


The Note

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: Parentlock, Confession Via Note, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, John Returns to Baker Street, M/M, Mary Takes Off, Sherlock Speaks French, Sherlock Tries Really Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mary leaves John and Baby Hamish, they return to 221B Baker Street. How will Sherlock cope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary's Note

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John stirred in his sleep as he heard Hamish crying in the next room. He turned to nudge Mary and found her side of the bed empty. Perfect, he thought to himself, trying to go back to sleep. But Hamish continued crying. And continued. So John got up to see what was going on. He padded into Hamish's room and saw that the one year old had stood himself up on the bars. "Where's mummy, huh?" he asked, picking him up. Then he saw the note inside the crib. He picked it up and turned on the light, almost dropping Hamish as he read it. He hurried out of the room and looked around the whole house stupidly before getting his phone and calling her. When it rang he heard it from their bedroom. Not knowing what else to do he called Sherlock. "Please . . . please pick up," he mumbled.

Sherlock had spent the last six hours working on an experiment -- he hadn't seen the night fall and didn't have the slightest idea what time it was. The experiment just wasn't working -- something was missing. He heard his phone go and saw John's name. For a moment he thought it was his mind playing a trick on him, a nasty trick just to remind him that John was what was missing. He shook that out of his head and answered the call.

"John."

John put the phone between his shoulder and ear, getting a better hold on Hamish. "Sherlock? Mary's left," he said, his voice a bit dazed as of his mind hadn't fully processed that yet.

"And?" Sherlock said. "John, the baby's a year old now, you're going to sometimes have to deal with it on your own. You can't expect Mary to do everything all the time. And why call me? I know nothing of babies. Can't you just pet it or something until she returns?" Sherlock accidentally pinched his finger as he tried to get back to his interrupted project. John had made his choices -- why involve Sherlock just because there was a small hiccup? 

John felt his stomach twist guiltily. He didn't blame Sherlock for being angry. In his attempt to try and work things out with Mary they hadn't seen much of each other, and the baby only made things harder. Hamish was crying harder now and John hurried into the kitchen. He needed to make a bottle and shut him up so he could think. "No, I mean -- " he paused to read the measurements because he never could remember. "I mean she's gone like . . . she left us," he said. 

When he started shaking the bottle, the phone fell, ending the call. He swore loudly, which made Hamish stop crying and stare at him. "Sorry," he murmured, kissing his forehead. He gave Hamish the bottle, let him run off, and then picked up his phone to call Sherlock back.

When the phone went dead, Sherlock didn't need time to process what John had said. He'd never admit it, but the truth is he had been waiting -- or had it been hoping, he wasn't sure and it didn't matter -- for this day to come. He moved his thumb to start a message.

_He'll worry. Assure me that you are okay, and we will leave you alone. SH_

He stared at it, his thumb hovering over Send, when the phone rang again. He deleted the message and answered the call.

"Shall I come to you?" Sherlock asked.

John was moving through the house now, not really looking for anything but finding a lot. "She didn't pack clothes, Sherlock. The suitcase is here, her phone . . . she just . . . took off," he said instead of answering. After everything he'd done for her -- after everything he'd forgiven and now this. He looked at the note again and felt anger rising in his chest.

Sherlock frowned. "Well, John, that solves it, she's not left you. If she didn't take her phone even . . . she probably just went out for a walk." Sherlock moved to the window and looked at the street below. It was relatively quiet. He glanced at the clock and saw the time. A walk alone at this hour was probably unlikely, but not taking anything, not even her phone . . . Sherlock couldn't believe she was gone for good.

"She left a note," John sighed, sitting down on the bed. Hamish came in and John helped him climb up. He ditched his half empty bottle and walked on the bed now.

Sherlock felt the corners of his mouth start to curl just a little but he stopped himself and deliberately kept a straight face even though he was alone and no one could see it. He was glad she was gone; he couldn't help it. But if anyone could hear Sherlock smile, it'd be John and Sherlock knew enough to know that would not be good. "I see," Sherlock said. "You needn't read it to me, but could I ask just a couple of questions about it?"

John froze and stared at a fixed spot on the wall. When the truth about Mary first came out, John had been extremely annoyed with how much Sherlock was defending her. It was on his insistence that he even tried to work things out -- that he gave her another chance. And now the way he said that . . . like he'd known this was bound to happen. "Yes." His voice was tense.

"Are the m, a, and r connected but the y stands alone?"

"Yes."

"Do the words appear to have been written while under duress? Is it shakier or more pointed than usual?"

"No." Suddenly Hamish jumped on John's back and, forgetting the conversation with Sherlock, he groaned and pretended like he was mortally injured. Hamish laughed and fell onto John's stomach. Thank God she hadn't taken Hamish with her.

"Does she say where or . . . why? Try to think objectively, John, for just a minute. Are you sure this note says she is leaving, for good?" Sherlock was trying to balance his voice -- he was a consulting detective but he was also John's best friend. "Do you want me to come over?"

"Sherlock, the note says that she appreciates the effort I put into this relationship, but thinking about it she realised that it could never actually work." Hamish climbed off and started on his bottle again. John sat up. "How could I have been so stupid to think an ex-assassin would just fall into married life?" He was getting angry again, not only at Mary but with Sherlock. These questions . . . he had to have known and now all he cared about was how.

"She probably got bored. That's what you people do, isn't it? You get bored and you disappear and you can't take your stupid friends with you and you can't take your boring husbands and I'm-I'm tired, Sherlock. I'm tired of putting my time and my . . . my feelings into people who leave." He dropped his head in his hand pressing his eyes as they started to burn.

Hamish dropped his bottle and crawled into John's lap, just lying back against his chest, sighing heavily. John pressed his lips onto the boy's head as he tried not to cry.

There was a silence for a moment as Sherlock took in what John said and what that all meant to John's life now. "John, I'm still here," he said. "Do you want me to come to you or do you want to come home?"

"I'd have to pack up Hamish," John said, taking a deep breath. "Did you know she was going to leave?"

"Of course, I didn't, John," Sherlock said. "I wanted you to be happy." That was true. Obviously Mary had been a bit of a wildcard and her presence in John's life did not make Sherlock happy. But it had seemed to make John happy, and that was what was most important to Sherlock. "Do you want to wait until morning? We can sort something here for him. Or come now." Which is what Sherlock wanted, what he'd wanted for the last two years. But he added, "Whenever you want."

John sat for a moment and tried to imagine how that sounded, if he was telling the truth. But then he realised it didn't matter. It wasn't going to change the fact that Mary was gone, and it wasn't going to change the fact that Sherlock was his best friend -- that he was offering help now. "I'll pack up some essentials and we'll be over soon," he said finally.

Hamish stood up and leaned closer to the phone, babbling like he always did. John held his back and let him go for a minute before speaking again. "He can sleep with me tonight."

"There's a place for him to sleep," Sherlock said, awkwardly. He swallowed. "Mrs Hudson helped me . . . when he was born, she thought it would be useful for when we were working together. It's not really been needed, I suppose. But it's here, in your room."

"What's there?" John asked. He helped Hamish onto the bed again who crawled behind him, stood up, and started jumping on his back again. He felt like he should apologise for his outburst. Sherlock had left for a different reason, Mary was just being selfish. He shouldn't have lumped them together like that.

"There's a cot," Sherlock said, walking up to John's room and pushing open the door. "Hold on, let me look, she got a big bag of stuff." He opened one of John's dresser drawers and flicked through the items. "There's nappies and some things that must be toys and some bottles that haven't been opened but there's nothing to put in them and some bibs, I'm guessing, and a few other items that are clearly baby-person-sized but I didn't really know what they are or what they're for. Bring whatever he'll need for the night and tomorrow we'll get the rest." He pushed the drawer shut and turned on John's bedside lamp. "Bring whatever you need."

"You made a room for him?" John asked quietly, flattered and surprised.

"I just . . . Mrs Hudson said . . . we . . . it's your room, John, don't make a thing," Sherlock said, "Just come home. I've got to go and tidy things up, I was doing an experiment and even I know that needs to be put away before a baby comes in here."

"Okay," John said, sensing his apprehension about the subject. "Yeah. I'll pack his things up and we'll be there soon." After they hung up, John scooped up Hamish and went to his room. "Okay buddy, pick three toys for now to take with us. Three." John held up three fingers and Hamish grinned. John packed an overnight bag as Hamish played, then packed his own bag. He made a mental checklist of formula, nappies, and toys.

An hour later they left, John fixing up the car seat in the cab before they pulled away.

_We're almost there, can you help me bring stuff in? -JW_

After hanging up, Sherlock started packing away his equipment. There were many things in his head, but he tried to focus only on one: making the flat safe for a little person. He hadn't seen the family for awhile, he tried to remember the baby's size then. Sherlock went over to his desk and got out some twine, which he tied around all the lower cupboard door handles. He moved everything on any of the low tables in the sitting room to the top of his desk or the mantelpiece. Then he moved to John's room and put clean sheets on the bed. He wiped the tables with a cloth and then returned to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. His phone vibrated, and he headed downstairs to the door to wait.

When the cab pulled up to the flat, John took Hamish out first, setting the car seat on the pavement as he took both bags out of the back. He paid the driver and started slinging bags onto his shoulders. Sherlock could carry the car seat, where Hamish was now laughing at the sight of him, struggling to get out.

Sherlock opened the door and stepped out. He tried to help John with the bags, but then John motioned for him to pick up the car seat. He bent down and awkwardly lifted it, saying, "Hello baby person" to Hamish. He followed John upstairs to the flat.

John set the bags down on the sofa and helped Hamish out of the car seat. He pulled out the toys he'd brought to distract him for a bit. "I appreciate this," he said to Sherlock. Then he pulled the crumpled note from his pocket and handed it over to him.

Sherlock put the note in his pocket. "Let's get settled first," he said. He poured two cups of tea and brought one into John. "The baby doesn't drink tea yet, right?" he asked, only partly joking. "Shouldn't it be asleep now?"

"He, Sherlock. He's a boy. And yes, but he's all excited now and if I try to lay him down he'll just keep getting up again. He'll get tired soon and hopefully sleep through the morning." He sipped at his tea gratefully.

Sherlock was about to scold John for his tone, but then remembered that, with a real baby in the flat, he should probably act a bit more like the grown man he was.

"I'm sorry," he said, "it's fine. He can make those noises as long as he needs to." He swallowed a sip of tea. "Do you want to try to find her?" he asked John.

"No." John shook his head and sipped some more tea. "I want her name off of his records. If she comes back I don't want her to have any rights at all." He knew that might be a bit extreme but he was still angry and hurt. Hamish abandoned his toy and walked over to Sherlock's legs, trying to climb up.

"I'm not sure that's realistic, but I am sure that's not the first issue we need to sort," he said. "Will the two of you live here now? What about the house?" Sherlock looked down at Hamish. "He wants tea, John. Should I put some in a bottle for him?" he asked, touching the little boy's fingers with one of his own.

"He wants you to pick him up," John explained. "And I haven't thought about that yet. I can't sleep on the sofa forever," he said. He wasn't sure how he felt about staying in the house he'd shared with Mary, and if he moved back in here a lot of things would have to get left behind. 

He tried to imagine the sitting room littered with toys like his own was, Sherlock stepping over them as he tried to do experiments, Hamish eating at the too small table with them . . . things would be very different now.

"This is still your home, John. We can change it to make it his as well. I can research it. It'll be different than it was before, but we can do it. I'll try, I promise," Sherlock said. He looked down at the baby and slapped his thigh softly, saying "Come up, Hamish, come on then."

Hamish pressed his little mouth together in determination and tried to climb up on his own. He gripped Sherlock's trousers into fists and lifted his legs, but that's all he managed. He looked up at Sherlock, dangling like that, and grunted.

"I know we can adapt well enough but I'm just thinking about the rooms. I don't mind leaving some things behind at the house. He just has so many things," John said. He smiled at Hamish and resisted pulling him up. Hamish grunted again.

Sherlock reached over and lifted Hamish, placing him on the sofa next to him. "We can shift things around. We can make that corner his," he said, pointing. "You could move your bed into my room to give him more space in yours or Mrs Hudson might have some room we could use to store things." Hamish crawled on to Sherlock, who looked at him and said, "Why aren't you asleep, little person?" 

Hamish tilted his head and grinned, standing up on Sherlock's thighs. He looked over at John and then back to Sherlock, just smiling.

"Will my bed fit in your room?" John asked. He thought about squeezing two beds in there, and then realised if they did that they would need a baby gate for the stairs. But John had one of those. "Worst comes to worst we'll rent out C," he said. 

"We can make things fit, John. We can sort it," he said, looking at Hamish and then over at John. "Does he have a job yet? Will he be able to afford the rent if Mrs Hudson offers him the other flat?" He smiled and then let Hamish hold onto one of his fingers. 

Hamish gripped tight and started to lean back. John's stomach twisted for a moment but Sherlock caught his hands. "We play that all the time. I hold on and pretend that he's falling," John explained. "I'm still trying to get my mind around it all . . . I mean, after everything I forgave and she just . . . left."

"Some people don't appreciate forgiveness, John," he tried to play with Hamish but not the leaning game. "The ones who really love you, though, do," he said quietly.

John flushed lightly at his comment and he reached over to touch his arm. "I'm sorry about what I said, Sherlock. I know it's not the same. . . ." he said quietly.

Hamish scrambled off of Sherlock and came over to John. "He doesn't do it right, does he?" John smiled at him. He grabbed Hamish's hands and leaned him back, smiling wider when Hamish giggled loudly.

"I've missed you," Sherlock said softly into his tea as he lifted his cup to drink. "I didn't want it to happen like this, but I'm glad you've come back home." He stayed still, staring into his mug.

John steadied Hamish and looked over at Sherlock again. He felt . . . very warm at the thought that Sherlock still called it his home, too. But he also felt a bit guilty in the way Sherlock said back home, and he wondered if John's two years of marriage were like Sherlock's two years of death. Sure they had seen each other, but not very much.

John reached over and touched his arm again. "I'm glad to be home, too, Sherlock. I wish it hadn't taken this either but . . . I am very thankful for you, for being here for us -- not just now, but always."

Hamish looked between them and then scrambled over to touch Sherlock's arm too. He grinned, as if it were a game and something wild was going to happen.

Sherlock smiled at Hamish and then at John. "Well, I kept my promise to two of you, at least." Then he looked seriously at John. "Do you want me to try to reach Mary? Maybe she can tell me something she felt she couldn't tell you." Sherlock did not want to do this. Inside he hated Mary because he too had tried to forgive her. He hated himself as well for doing that and allowing her to hurt John again. But he didn't know what else to offer John, he didn't want John to think Sherlock didn't appreciate what the end of his marriage must mean to him.

"No," John shook his head. Hamish crawled back over to John and curled against his chest with a soft sigh. "I don't care where she's gone, Sherlock. But maybe Mycroft could help me with the papers? I was serious about that." When Hamish squirmed around a bit John looked down. "We'll get you into bed soon, buddy. We'll go see your new room."

"We'll get in touch and see what he can do," Sherlock said. "Should we go up and see if he's got everything he needs for the night? We'll keep a list of things we don't have and go get them tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah," John nodded, lifting Hamish onto his shoulder and following Sherlock upstairs. He smiled at the sight of his room and made a mental note to thank Mrs Hudson. Hamish was squirming to get down again, to explore the room. John let him do so as he looked through the drawers and bags around the cot. "He'll need a gate so he can't wander off on his own, and formula and all the food I have for him at home -- little snacks and things like that. As far as essentials Mrs Hudson did great. I'll need to bring all of his things -- clothes and toys -- but we can do that slowly." 

"I just put clean sheets on everything," Sherlock said. "I don't think much else in here has changed, except for his things." He stood awkwardly between the bed and the cot, not knowing what to do with himself.

John smiled and nodded. "Come on, kid. It's bed time," he said, lifting Hamish into the crib. "I am going to sleep in here for now, obviously we're not moving the bed tonight and it might help him -- new place and all. Um . . . we'll see you in the morning, then," he smiled. "Thanks again."

"Okay," Sherlock said, moving past John and touching his arm awkwardly. "If you need anything, just shout," then looking at the baby, he added, "or text me and I'll come to you." He paused for a moment and then went back downstairs, shutting off all the lights before heading into his bedroom.

Hamish was bouncing around against the railing. "Lie down now. Come on," John told him, laying him down and covering him up. His nappy was still dry so he could change that in the morning. John stripped down to his undershirt and pants before climbing into his own bed, a heavy feeling washing over him as he covered himself up. He couldn't believe how quickly things had changed. He wondered where Mary was now and he felt himself getting angry again -- he hoped he never saw her again. He looked over at Hamish and calmed down, remembering also where he was now. Home. A few minutes later he was sleeping himself, falling into uneasy nightmares about Mary and awful things happening to him and Hamish and Sherlock. 

Sherlock lay on his bed in the dark. The flat felt different -- not the same as last night when he was here alone and yet not the same as when John lived here before. He thought he heard sounds, like ghosts of memories that floated in and out of his ears. He wasn't sure how things would be now. He didn't know what he felt, what he was supposed to feel. For a moment, he wasn't even sure that John was actually here, that what had happened had really happened. He knew he was tired, his mind exhausted yet he had an urge to just go sit outside John's door, to make sure he was really home and that he wouldn't leave again. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.


	2. Adjustments

Sometime later a soft babbling woke John up. He groaned and stretched before opening his eyes. For a moment he forgot where he was and he sat up confused. And then he remembered. He looked over at Hamish who had pulled himself up and was watching him. He got up and pulled the boy out, kissing his temple before laying him down to change his nappy. He squirmed and whined the whole time. "Oh, calm down," he murmured. "Come on, let's get breakfast. 

In his exhaustion, and mostly out of habit, he went into the kitchen in just his t-shirt and pants. He held Hamish on his hip as he made up a bottle with the formula he's brought. As Hamish drank that, John stared at the kettle. He sat Hamish on the counter, stood in front of him and waited for it to boil. 

The noise outside his bedroom door woke Sherlock. He recognised John's voice and the soft noises from the baby. He lay in bed and remembered last night. Then he stretched and stood, slipping his dressing gown on and went into the kitchen.

"Morning," John said. Hamish shook his bottle excitedly and grinned at Sherlock before drinking again. "That's almost done," he motioned to the kettle. 

Sherlock moved towards the kettle to wait. He looked at Hamish and said, "Good morning, small person." To John, he asked, "How did the two of you sleep?"

"All right, I suppose," John said. "He slept very well so that's good news for me," he smiled. 

"We should let Mrs Hudson know so she doesn't think that overnight I got married and had a child," Sherlock said, pouring two cups of tea.

John hesitated. "I, um, I haven't really thought about how to explain -- I mean what to say, you know? There's going to be so many questions . . . things I can't answer."

"I know, but not with Mrs Hudson. She knows when not to ask questions and probably won't care anyway, she'll just be so glad you're back. We, I mean, you can decide about when and how to tell other people whenever you're ready to." He sat down at the table with his tea. "What does the child do in the morning? I was going to go in to pick up something from Molly. She'd love to see you, I'm sure, but we can't leave him here, I know. Shall I go straight away while you two do whatever it is you do in the mornings and when I return we can go to the shop or your house or both of those things or neither?" He knew he was rambling but couldn't seem to make himself stop. After living on his own again, he had grown accustomed to not having to make sense first thing in the morning.

"He just plays. He eats when he's hungry and usually takes two naps. That's all," he smiled. "And you can go to Molly and we can go to the house for things later. I don't need to go to the store just yet," he said. 

"All right," Sherlock said, finishing his tea and standing up. "I'll have a quick shower and go. Should I bring back a proper breakfast or anything?"

"I assume you don't have anything edible here?" John smiled. 

"I'm afraid I do not, Doctor Watson," Sherlock pulled face at him. "I'll get something." He jumped into the shower and then got dressed. When he returned to the kitchen, he lay Mary's note on the table. "Here's this back. I didn't read it. It's yours." He moved to put his coat and scarf on. "I'll be home within an hour. Goodbye, little person. And Hamish, too," he said smiling as he left. 

John threw him a look but didn't say anything fast enough. "Come on, you," he said to Hamish, going up to their room again. He was going to organise some things but he realised with his bed in there he couldn't do much. "We'll work later, huh?" John grinned at the baby and brought a bunch of toys into the sitting room, letting him loose to play. He was laughing as he pushed a small car around that he would be riding soon, when he got older. John put cartoons on the telly and was about to lay on the sofa when Mrs Hudson came in. 

"Oh! I thought I heard the baby! Just the two of you?" She asked, looking around at all of the toys. Hamish brought her a small wind up bee before resuming his pushing.  

"Oh, yeah," John nodded. "We're going to be staying for a bit, the two of us," he said. 

"Oh, lovely," she smiled. "Maybe now Sherlock will act a bit more grown up," she teased. 

"Now that he's got a play buddy? I don't think so. I've just got two kids now," he grinned. She laughed and told him to call her for anything and then she left. That hadn't been so bad. Of course she expected this, for cases and stuff, since she'd made the room up for this reason. Only now he was just . . . never going to leave. He sighed and lay down, watching Hamish running around

Sherlock picked up what he needed from Molly. He didn't say a word about John's return; he just smiled when Molly asked why his mood was uncharacteristically pleasant this morning. He stopped by a bakery and picked up some pastries and a biscuit for Hamish. On the way home, he fretted about whether or not the biscuit had nuts in it and whether or not Hamish could eat nuts and he started to worry about all the things he had to consider now that he hadn't had to consider yesterday. But when he let himself into the front door of Baker Street, he felt better again, knowing John was upstairs waiting for him.

He bumped into Mrs Hudson. "I see John has come home," she said.

"Yes," he said. He knew he was smiling.

"Finally," she said.

"Yes," Sherlock said, heading up the stairs.

"Who's that?" John asked, hearing Sherlock coming up. Hamish was looking at the door, waiting as if the greatest surprise was coming. He glanced and saw that it was cracked. "Go open it," he said, sitting up now. Hamish looked at him and then the door again. "Open the door for Sherlock," he pointed. Hamish hurried over, stumbling a bit, and he pulled the door open with a small grunt.

Sherlock stopped on the bottom step and saw Hamish standing at the open door, the sunlight coming through the windows behind him. How strange that this little person was now part of his life, lived in his home. He could see John's shape standing behind Hamish's shape and he continued up the stairs. He picked up Hamish and carried him with him into the kitchen. He flipped on the kettle and turned to face John and asked, "So how are my two flatmates now that the day has started?"

Hamish laughed and looked around the room as if this new height made everything completely different. John couldn't help a small flutter of his stomach at the way Sherlock said 'my flatmates'.

"We're fine. Mrs Hudson came up and we spoke for a bit."

"And did that go okay?" Sherlock walked over to John and gave him the baby so he could make some tea. He let his hand brush John's arm as he moved back to the kitchen. "Tea?"

Hamish reached for Sherlock again, but when he got too far he gave up and squirmed to get down instead. "Show Sherlock your bee," John told him as he put him down. "Your bee." Hamish grinned and hurried off to his little car. "Yeah, it went okay. I didn't say we were staying for good, but she looked around and I think she knows." 

Hamish hurried back with a little wind up bee, when the tail is pulled, the wings spin. He collided with Sherlock's leg, fell down, scrambled back up and held the bee up to him.

Sherlock inspected the bee and then flew it around Hamish's head a few times before handing it back to him with a smile. He poured his tea and then carefully carried it higher up than usual, not that Hamish could reach it anyway, into the sitting room and sat down with John on the sofa. "So far so good here?" he asked.

Hamish laughed and tried to grab it, running off with it when he finally got it. He plopped down by his little car and tried to make the wings spin on his own.

"Yeah," John nodded. He sipped on his tea. "Everything is good. I just have to go pick up a few things and get the papers in order and then I can just . . . get it all behind me." 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Will you be taking the baby? By the way, that bee toy will mislead him into thinking he can pull on bees' backsides. That's problematic, if you ask me."  
  
"It will not, he will grow up and know it's just a toy," John said. "And it's going to be hard enough packing and carrying the things we need back. Do I need to take him?" he asked, looking over at Sherlock. He tried to imagine Sherlock alone with Hamish and saw the flat on fire. He bit his lip and waited to see what he would say.

"You mean you'll leave him here? On his own?" Sherlock asked. And then he realised what John was saying. "You mean with me, don't you?" He looked at Hamish. "All right, I'll try but please do not get upset if when you return he's learned how to swear or pick a lock or has got himself a tattoo. It's hard to say exactly what will go on here." He smiled and touched John's arm. "I will get Mrs Hudson if I need help. We'll be okay," he said softly.

John smiled. "Okay, if you're sure. I will go now then so that I can get it over with," he said, standing up and taking his mug to the sink. He realised he was in his pants suddenly and he felt very embarrassed, thankful that Sherlock hadn't brought it up. He hurried upstairs and changed into his regular clothes, coming back down with his jacket. Hamish stood up and went to him but John shook his head. "You stay with Sherlock, okay? I'll be back soon." Hamish looked at Sherlock and then went back to his toys. "If he gets hungry the formula is all measured out, and you can give him some dry cereal with it. Don't disappear into your mind palace and let him turn on the stove or something, okay?" 

He finally left when he'd got Sherlock's assurance, taking a cab back to his house. He half expected to walk in and find Mary there, telling him it was all a joke. But it was just as empty as he'd left it last night. He took out the big suitcase and a duffle bag, packing all of their clothes first. Then he stuffed the duffle bag with more or Hamish's toys, his blankets, bath things, and snacks from the kitchen. He moved around the house, trying to separate things into what they really needed and what he just wanted to take with him. 

Sherlock stared at Hamish, playing on the floor. If they could both just stay exactly like this until John returned, it would all be fine. Sherlock watched Hamish, urging him not to change what he was doing, to stay playing and not get distracted. But then Sherlock realised that he was bored already. He stood up and put on the telly for some background noise. Then he sat down on the floor by Hamish and fiddled with one of his toys.

Hamish kept playing, not too interested in Sherlock's interference. Which was fine with Sherlock. For about five minutes. And then he realised he was bored again. So he started talking.

"Hamish, did you know your father was a short man? He is. I am not. Your father's hair is lighter than mine. You do not have very much hair. It's quite light but babies' hair often is, I do not know that we can guarantee what your hair colour will be by the time you are my age. You may be bald by then, it's hard to say having never seen your mother's father. If you are bald, do not wear a wig. Hamish, you may end up a short, bald man but you will probably be a handsome one because your father is. Handsome, I mean, and short. But not bald." Sherlock looked at the baby, who had not looked up once at him. "Hamish, I'm bored," he said. He stood up and moved back to the sofa. He grabbed the newspaper and tried to work on the crossword, slouching down a bit so he could easily flick his eyes between the paper and the baby.

After a few minutes Hamish got up and walked over to the sofa, patting his hands on it. Then he moved away and started pulling pillows down from the chairs, diving on them and laughing as he did rolled over and off of the sides and before starting over.

Sherlock said, "Hamish, this seems like the kind of idea that an adult would think is a bad one." He snatched him from the floor and grabbed a couple of his toys. He put Hamish with his things on the sofa next to him. "Here, we are going to play a game. It's called Stay on the Sofa. We mustn't move from the sofa because on the floor are crocodiles who will eat us and pick the flesh off of our bones." He looked at Hamish's face, his little eyes staring up at Sherlock. "Do you know what a crocodile is? I hope you do not, because actually what I've just said is an appalling thing to say to a child so I would like to retract that. The point is stay on the sofa."

Immediately Hamish made a move to get down. "Please, stay on the sofa, Hamish," Sherlock picked up a toy. "What about this magic bee? The only bee in the entire universe whose tail you can pull without being stung," he pulled the tail and the wings spun. Hamish smiled. "There we go, that's better," Sherlock said, sliding a little down on the sofa, making a barrier between Hamish and the edge. He pulled the tail a few more times and then handed it to Hamish. "Now you do it, while I look at the crossword."

Hamish held the bee, turned it in his hands, dropped it on Sherlock's leg and started to climb over him to get down.

"Hamish, please," Sherlock said, "I would greatly appreciate your not doing that. Please. Here, why don't you lie down here next to me?" He shifted slightly so that his arm was around Hamish a bit, his body still between the baby and the edge of the sofa. He held up the newspaper over their heads and shook it a little so that Hamish would look up. "Yes, that's better. Let's just stay here on the sofa. To avoid the crocodiles." He swooped the paper softly down to Hamish's nose and lifted it back up again. Hamish smiled. Sherlock found the game incredibly tedious, but it was better than worrying about him escaping.

"Maybe you should take a nap now?" he suggested. "That's what babies do. John said you would so why don't you, eh? A nice little nap and if he's not back, I'll give you a bottle when you wake up. Those are the two things John said would happen. After that, I have no idea what to do next." He thought about picking Hamish up and taking him to his cot, but worried that he would cry at being left alone. So far there had been no crying and for that, Sherlock was extremely grateful. "I do not really sing, Hamish, I'm afraid," he said, "but I can hum." So Sherlock hummed him a little tune and it seemed to work as Hamish's face went a bit loose and his eyes started to droop. Sherlock kept humming quietly, which was actually quite a soothing sound.

Hamish curled up to Sherlock, lying almost on top of him on his stomach. He sighed heavily and fell asleep. Sherlock let out his own soft sigh of relief, but realised he was now unable to move very much. He dropped the newspaper onto the floor beside him and placed one hand gently onto Hamish's back, turning just ever so slightly to keep him from sliding off onto the floor. Sherlock stared at the back of the sofa. He had only been on his own with the baby for a short time and he felt quite exhausted. How did John do it all the time? It wasn't so bad really. Hamish hadn't even cried once since coming last night. God, Sherlock thought, last night seemed so long ago. Last night he lived alone and now he lived with John again. And with this baby, curled up sleeping against him. Sherlock closed his eyes. His world was strange, but so much better when John was back in it.

At the house, John dug out another duffle bag to fill, not wanting to come back until he needed to sell it. Finally he finished and made his way down to the sidewalk, hoping a cab would take him easily with three large bags. John finally found a cab and he loaded his bags, giving the address. He wondered how everything was going at the flat.

When the cab pulled up John paid, a bit extra since he took the bags as well, and hauled them up to the flat. In the door he paused, grinning stupidly at the sight in front of him. He put the bags down very gently and he just stared, smiling and happy. He saw the pillows on the floor and wondered if Hamish had tried playing the lava game and wondered if Sherlock had known what to do. Had he played along? John would have given anything to see that.

Sherlock shifted and then opened his eyes and saw John. He smiled softly and pointed to Hamish, as if John hadn't already seen that he was not swearing, picking locks or bearing a tattoo. Then he made a bit of a helpless face, wanting John to take the baby. All of a sudden he realised his bladder was full and he desperately needed to get up. 

"He'll wake up if I move him," John grinned, not doing anything. "Did you play lava floor, too?"

"I don't know what lava floor is. If you mean the pillow business, it worried me so I banned it until a proper grown up was available. We had a conversation about baldness and then did the crossword. He told me he didn't like the bee toy because of it bore no relation to real life. I didn't give him a bottle because he didn't appear to want one. I didn't change his nappy because he didn't cry. However, John, you will be needing to change my nappy relatively soon if you don't figure out a way for me to get off this sofa," Sherlock was whispering which somehow made everything, including his need for the toilet, seem more urgent. 

"We pretend the floor is lava and move only on the pillows," John whispered back. He gently scooped Hamish up and when Sherlock moved, he set him back down on the sofa.

Sherlock moved slowly off the sofa and then rushed to the bathroom. When he came back out, he smiled at John and said, "How did it go with you?" He looked over at the things John had brought it and added, "That's not too bad, we'll find space for it."

"It helps that the room is here, with things he needs, you know?" John said.

"Are you giving it up to him then? Should we move you into mine?" Sherlock said, putting the kettle on again. He was going to have to change his tea consumption if he was going to be left with a sleeping baby on him on a regular basis.

"Yeah," John nodded. "I brought the baby gate for the stairs so if he somehow gets out he won't fall down the stairs. Should we move your bed over first or bring mine down first?" He thought to himself how much easier it would be if he could just share Sherlock's bed, but that would be a bit tricky given some thoughts he'd had, now filed away some where deep and dark.

"Let's think about this first before we start shifting things around," Sherlock said. He got the measuring tape and measured his bed and the length and width of the room. He then went and measured John's bed. He returned and said, "Do not panic, John. Everything will be fine." He swallowed. "But I'm not entirely convinced this is going to work . . . as planned. It doesn't mean we can't sort something, but based on the measurements, it appears that the beds might only fit side by side and pressed up against each wall. We can still do it if you want or we can come up with Plan B. Maybe we could each get smaller beds or even just one of us could? I can go measure your room -- maybe they'll fit more easily in there and the baby can have mine. We will figure something out, yeah?"  
  
"That seems like a lot of trouble, buying all new furniture. And on separate sides of the room . . . well, the door won't open. Pushed together?" It seemed silly to take up so much space just to sleep beside each other anyways, but he was too nervous to suggest the alternative.

"Look, let's not get bogged down with this. We need to sort the baby, we're grown ups and can handle a little temporary inconvenience. We'll push your bed into the corner of your room to give him more space and then there will be a place in there to sleep if he fusses in the middle of the night or whatever. Tonight you can just sleep in here with me or, if you prefer, I'll sleep on the sofa. There's a quite a bit to get taken care of, we should get over this minor hurdle and move on. Okay then?"

John nodded. "Let's . . . let's just take my bed out of there, so all of his things fit and we don't trip trying to get him in the night. We can take it down to C and it can be an extra selling point for Mrs Hudson. And I'll take the sofa so I can hear him better, and we'll sort out a place for me later," John decided. He, of course, had a monitor so it wouldn't matter where he was for hearing Hamish, and this set him up nicely to have to 'end up sharing' as there would be no place else for him after. It was sneaky, and wrong, but he could worry about that later -- if it ended up even happening. 

"No, John, wait, I've just remembered something," Sherlock rushed to his desk and from the bottom drawer, he pulled out two baby monitors. "I, we, got them with the other things but I tried to use them for a slightly different purpose, well, for a similar purpose really, just not for a baby. Anyway, we can set them up and then you needn't be the one on the sofa. Fine," he said, clapping his hands together. "Right. That's sorted. I'll go see what Mrs Hudson wants us to do with the bed and you go get it ready to be moved." For some reason, he was smiling quite widely as he headed downstairs.

John headed up to his room and started taking the sheets off, folding them before taking the pillows off. He looked around the room and couldn't believe Sherlock had thought to make it. What had he said? In case they worked cases? As if John would bring Hamish along for that. _He knew you'd need it._ He shook his head and chose to ignore that. It didn't matter what Sherlock knew or suspected before. He was here for them now -- always -- and that's what mattered. As he moved the mattress to see if he could move it alone, a folded paper fell out under the bedside table, unnoticed by John.

Sherlock knocked on Mrs Hudson's door.

"We need to remove John's bed from the flat," he asked. "Shall we put it in the other flat or somewhere else?"

Mrs Hudson raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Down there is fine, Sherlock. Lean it against the wall because of the damp."

Sherlock returned to the flat and went up to John's room. "We can move it into the other flat. We should put Hamish in the cot, yes, so he stays safe while we do this?"

They moved the mattress first. Getting it out of the door was difficult, but they took the stairs and sitting room easily enough. Once the mattress was finally standing on the wall, they headed back up. "How are we moving the frame? Taking it apart or like that?"

"The headboard can be unscrewed and the rest should be light enough to carry. No more awkward to maneuver than the mattress, I wouldn't think," Sherlock said. He retrieved a screwdriver and removed the headboard. They moved the frame down together and then Sherlock took the headboard on his own as John started to unpack Hamish's things.

When Sherlock returned he said to John, "I know you said you didn't need anything from the shop yet, but we're still left with no food. Can he go to restaurants or should one of us nip out and bring something in?"

"He can go to restaurants, but there's so much to unpack that I think it would be best if we just brought something here," John said. "Do you want to go out or should I?"

Sherlock looked at Hamish who was still sleeping. "I'm okay to stay with him again, I can set up the monitor," he said, "or I'm happy to go. Whatever you want."

"I will go. When he wakes up he'll probably need a new nappy, but don't give him formula until I come back, so he can eat a bit of food with us. Want anything specific?" 

"Chinese is fine," he said, following John downstairs. Once he'd left, Sherlock began examining the monitor. He set one on the coffee table and carried the other back up to John's room where he found Hamish standing up in his cot.

"I think that you probably want to go back to sleep now," he said, setting the other monitor on cabinet near the cot. He went back down to the sitting room and could hear Hamish's gurgles. He returned to John's room. Hamish had not gone back to sleep.

Sherlock stood by the cot looking at him. Then he picked him up, turned off the monitor and took him downstairs. He set him on the floor by the sofa and said, "There's no crocodiles down there right now." He sat on the sofa and leaned over to turn off the monitor on the table.

Hamish just sat there, looking up at Sherlock. "Would you like to play volcano?" he said and dropped a pillow from the sofa. But it hit Hamish's shoulder and he fell forward onto the floor and started crying.

Sherlock panicked. "Mrs Hudson!" he yelled as he bent over and lifted Hamish into his lap.

Mrs Hudson rushed up the stairs and through the door. "What's happened, Sherlock?" 

"I've given the baby a concussion. Can you help me? Should I ring an ambulance?" Sherlock was in such a state that he hadn't noticed that Hamish was no longer crying.

Mrs Hudson took Hamish from Sherlock's arms and snuggled him. "Isn't Sherlock silly?" she said. Hamish cooed to Mrs Hudson and she sat down in John's chair with him. "Put the kettle on, Sherlock, and tell me what happened."

Sherlock flicked the kettle on and explained about the pillow and the fall.

"I doubt he hit his head or he wouldn't have stopped crying so quickly, did you see him hit his head?" she said examining him and finding no marks. "You probably just surprised him, Sherlock, especially if he'd just woken up."

Sherlock brought the tea in and set Mrs Hudson's near her.

"I didn't mean to do it," he said guiltily.

"Of course you didn't," Mrs Hudson said. "Don't be daft." She played with Hamish on her lap. "Is his mother gone then?" she asked.

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "You should ask John about that," he said, "but yes."

Mrs Hudson crinkled her nose. "Did you change him when he got up? I think he needs changing, Sherlock. Where are the nappies? I'll do it."  
  
Sherlock pointed to John's room and Mrs Hudson headed up. "You'd better come with me," she said, "so you can see how it's done."

Mrs Hudson lay Hamish back in the cot. As she was doing so, she said, "It's all change up here, isn't it? You mustn't panic like that, Sherlock. I know you want to do right by them, love, but you just need to take it easy." She lifted her head and smiled softly at him. When she was finished, she picked Hamish back up and they went back to finish their tea.

"Where's John then?" she asked.

"He just went out to get us some food, he'll be back any minute," Sherlock answered. "Will you stay until he does, please?"  
  
"Of course," she said, setting Hamish down on the floor by her feet and pushing some toys around him. He picked up the bee and tried to pull its tail.

John forgot to call the order in so when he got to the restaurant he had to wait for the food. He thought about calling to check in but decided not to, letting Sherlock handle Hamish. Mrs Hudson was there if he got into any trouble. When the food finally came out, he paid and took a cab back. 

Hamish pushed himself up and brought the bee to Sherlock, holding it up to him again and patting his knee. 

"See?" Mrs Hudson said. "All is well."

Sherlock took the bee and pulled its tail. As its wings spun, he moved it around Hamish's head, which made him giggle. "I suppose so. Thank you for your help," Sherlock said to Mrs Hudson as he pulled the bee's tail again. He heard John come in downstairs. "Your father is back," he said to Hamish who was urging him to keep playing with the bee.

John brought the food up and paused when he saw Mrs. Hudson. "Uh-oh," he smiled. "What happened?" Hamish walked over and buried his face into John's shin before flopping down on the pillow Sherlock had thrown. 

"Nothing's happened, love," Mrs Hudson said, "I just popped up to see --"

"She's lying," Sherlock interrupted. "The baby cried and I panicked but everything is fine now. The volcano game shall remain banned from Baker Street." He stood up and moved to get plates.

Mrs Hudson looked at John and mouthed, "Everything's okay" and he nodded quickly before Sherlock returned and began dishing out the food.

"Would you like some?" he asked her.

"No thank you, love," she said, taking a drink. "So John, you're all moved in then, I see."

"The lava game is not banned, it's his favourite," John said. "We will show you how to play later. And yes, I am all moved in," he added to Mrs Hudson.

"Well, I for one am glad you are back. I've got three boys upstairs now," she said, smiling. "You know when Sherlock bought all those things, I thought it was too much, but I suppose it's all worked out for the best."

Sherlock shot her a look. "Yes, that was a very good idea of yours, Mrs Hudson. It definitely saved the day. Didn't you say there was something on telly you wanted to watch?"

She rolled her eyes and got up. "Well, yes, I should be going. Good night, little Hamish. Good night, John," she said, "Sherlock." She pulled shut the door as she left.

Sherlock said, "I'm sorry for panicking, John. It was . . . just the first time I've heard him cry here and I wasn't sure what to do. And I forgot to change him. But Mrs Hudson showed me how. And I set the monitors up. I will do better, I promise." He stared at his food as he pushed it around the plate.

John set up the high chair and put some of his noodle on Hamish's tray as he mixed up a bottle and brought that over as well. "Sherlock, you are doing just fine, trust me," John assured him. He looked over at Hamish. "Are we going to show Sherlock lava floor later?" Hamish grinned and stuffed a noodle into his mouth. John chuckled and started on his own meal.   

Sherlock smiled weakly at John. He had been trying so hard to make everything right, to ensure John didn't worry. Babies do cry sometimes, he'd just have to get used to it and be prepared next time. "We should still move some of this around. I'd feel better if there were more space. We'll sort it," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as John.

John nodded. "The monitor will make it easier for me to hear him from the sofa -- I sleep a bit deeply sometimes," he said. He gave Hamish more noodles. "I'll unpack some more of his things tomorrow when we get up."

"Don't sleep on the sofa, John," Sherlock said. "You had to deal with the house stuff and you've been shifting things all day long." He put his plate on the table. "I'll take the sofa. The monitor will work from my bedroom so you'll still be able to hear him."

"I'm not going to kick you out of your own room, Sherlock. No," he shook his head. 

"Well, the baby's kicked you out of yours. You don't even have a bed in your own flat, thanks to my poor planning. Just stay in mine and if it's too uncomfortable, one of us can move out here, all right?" Sherlock said. He stood up and carried his plate and the empty cartons to the kitchen. He returned and fussed Hamish for a moment and then flopped back onto the sofa. "John, I really don't know how you do it. I've had a baby for less than 24 hours and I must confess I am completely knackered." 

When Hamish finished John let him out and cleaned off his tray before adding his plate to the sink. "Come on, Hamish. Let's show Sherlock lava floor," he said, dropping a three more pillows on the ground. John stood on one with one foot and Hamish squealed with laughter, throwing himself onto a pillow. John grinned and stepped on another pillow, wobbling dramatically. Hamish pushed his leg and John 'fell' into the lava. "No!" he groaned, writhing around. Hamish squealed louder and threw himself onto a bigger pillow to get away. But he rolled off on the slanted side and John heard a dull thunk as Hamish's head found the leg of the coffee table. 

Hamish sat up, lip trembling and moaning, looking to John. John gasped dramatically, grinning. "Did you bump your head?" he asked. Hamish smiled. "Silly. You fell in the lava too! Right in the lava!" he laughed. Hamish laughed and flopped onto a pillow again. "See? If you freak out, he freaks out. If he was really hurt he'd have cried through the laughter. You just . . . go along with it," John smiled. 

Sherlock watched John play with Hamish. In a way he was jealous of both of them for each having something he'd never have. "I still don't like the game," he said, "but I see what you mean. I know what to do now, I promise." He smiled at them both.

John smiled up at him as Hamish jumped onto his stomach, laughing when John groaned. He scrambled up and went over to the sofa, trying to climb up again. John lifted him onto the edge of the sofa and he plopped down on Sherlock's stomach too with a small grunt. John grinned. "Not as much cushioning as daddy, huh?"

Sherlock put his arms around Hamish's back and let the baby fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. "I can see your face in his, John," he said softly.

John smiled softly. "Yeah, they've told me that," he said. Hamish sighed heavily, squirming up a bit. "Looks like it's bed time. I'm going to take him up and I'll be back in a bit." He picked up Hamish and took him upstairs, letting the boy crawl around as he found some pajamas for him. He looked around and saw Hamish on his belly, reaching under the bedside table. "What did you lose under there?" 

Hamish babbled back, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. John took it from him and put it on the table as he got Hamish into pajamas. He lay him down and covered him up, wishing him good night. He was already half asleep. John almost walked out when he looked at the paper again and opened it to see what it was, wondering where it had come from. He fixed up the baby gate on the door of the bedroom and then leaned on the frame, unfolding the paper. 


	3. Sherlock's Note

________

_Dear John Watson,_

_I have just returned home from your wedding. It was a lovely ceremony, and I hope I did not ruin it as I feared I would. Mary looked very beautiful and you, handsome. You were surrounded by people who love you both. I know that you will always remember it -- as you said you would -- as the biggest and most important day of your life._

_I, on the other hand, am seriously considering deleting it._

_Why?_

_Because I shall always remember it as the worst day of my life._

_Because it was the day I realised that I have made a grave mistake. I have spent years banking on an assumption that I now know to be incorrect. The assumption was that I would one day be able to tell you how I feel about you. I now understand that I will never be able to do so._

_You and I shared almost every moment of our lives while you lived at Baker Street. All that time -- millions of moments when I could have told you -- but I did not._

_And those two years apart -- when sometimes it was only the thought of coming home to you that kept me sane -- all that time wasted as well._

_And when I returned, I could have said something. It would have been uncomfortable and possibly useless, true, but I could have done it. Yet I said nothing. I did not utter a word. I still must have believed that one day the time would be right.  
_

_Earlier at the reception, you looked at me and then looked away and that was when it hit me: my chance to tell you has gone forever.  
_

_So I would like to delete today, John, and go back -- go back to the beginning, go back to before the fall, go back even to yesterday when I still believed that one day I would be able to tell you that I love you, that I want you to be with me, only me, for always. If only I could._

_I won't delete it, though, despite the way the bottle of wine I've drunk since I got back is urging me to do so. I won't delete the biggest and most important day of my best friend's life. It was your wedding, John, the start of your new life and your new family._

_But I will always regret today and the terrible mistake I have made._

_SH_

________

 

John read the letter six times. Maybe more. He couldn't make it sink into his brain -- it wasn't possible. It couldn't be. John sank down onto the floor, leaning against the wall. He had realised he loved Sherlock just a bit before the fall -- especially when his first thought was that he never got the chance to tell him. So he had pushed those feelings away with guilt and grief, hidden them away and never thought about them again. He'd moved on, found someone that distracted him, helped him and then, impossibly, Sherlock was back. And everything he had hidden away flooded out. He'd made a promise to Mary. She had been so kind and helpful -- and a liar. 

She had shot Sherlock, she had lied to him, and that had been his second chance to tell Sherlock and yet he hadn't. He'd been so stupid! And now . . . had Sherlock left this on purpose? No, it was written the night of the wedding. Had he forgotten about it? How was he supposed to go downstairs -- share his bed! -- without it being weird now? He stuffed the note into his pocket and went back into Hamish's room. He wouldn't go downstairs. He would just . . . quietly unpack and 'accidentally' fall asleep on the floor. Yes. 

Sherlock got ready for bed. He realised he should have changed the sheets, but worried it would seem weird now to do so. He looked at his phone and read the headlines. Then he remembered he had turned off the monitors.

_Don't forget to turn on the monitors and bring the one from the sitting room in with you. SH_

John's phone buzzed in his pocket and he read the message. He imagined Sherlock lying down there alone, waiting for John to join him, falling asleep and wondering why John hadn't come back down. It seemed sad. He sighed and put on pajamas, hiding the letter in the drawer of the bed side table. He turned on the monitor, closed the baby gate, and went downstairs. He turned on the monitor and hesitated in the door before going in. Sherlock's bed was pretty big -- bigger than his own -- and he climbed in, staying well on his side, his back to Sherlock.

The way John came in changed the feeling of the room, and all of a sudden Sherlock felt stupid, like everything he'd done or suggested since John's arrival had been idiotic. He slid down on the bed and also turned on his side, away from John. But he couldn't tolerate the silence so he said, without turning, "Have I done something wrong? Do you want me to go sleep on the sofa?"

John closed his eyes because, of course, Sherlock would notice something going on. Of course. "Wait one second," John said quietly, getting up and going to Hamish's room. He got the letter again, and his slightly shaking hands he came back, sat on the edge of the bed, and held it out to Sherlock. "Found it upstairs . . . "

Sherlock looked at the paper in John's hands. "What is it? Is it from Mary? Do we need to get Mycroft involved?" He was suddenly wide awake and his stomach turned.

John stayed quiet. Sherlock must have forgotten it existed . . . .he realised suddenly that he could have said nothing and avoided this awkward mess. But then Sherlock had known something was wrong just by him lying down so maybe not. He held it out more for Sherlock to take it.

Sherlock took the paper from John's hand. He opened it, immediately recognising his own handwriting and read the first line before folding it back up and dropping it onto the bed. "I see," he said softly. "I know what this is. I'm not sure precisely what it says, but I know what it is."

He stood up, reaching for his dressing gown and then grabbing a pillow and the blanket from his chair. "I'll sleep on the sofa tonight, John."

"That's it then?" John asked, watching him. "I find something like that and that's all you have to say?"

"What on earth could I say, John? The whole reason I wrote that is because _I couldn't say_. And now? Now's the time to say something when she's left and you have a child and I'm trying to help you and you're sleeping in my bed? What am I supposed to say, ah John, how about just forgetting you read that? I don't even know where you found it but there's a reason I didn't hand it to you on your arrival, you know." Sherlock's voice was . . . he didn't know what it sounded like because he didn't know what he felt.

"Well . . . haven't I got a right to reply," John said. "You don't have to say anything. I just want you to listen to me. Can you do that?"

Quite honestly, Sherlock didn't know if he could. He wished he could leave the room and at some later date receive John's written reply so he could take it in when he was alone. But that was stupid, he knew. He knew he didn't have any other option but to agree to listen, which is exactly what he would do.

But before he did, he leaned over and turned off the light. The darkness felt safer. He could hear the soft hum from the baby monitor sitting on the table. He sat down in his chair, wrapping the blanket around. "Yes, I will listen," he said. 

John took a deep breath and said everything matter of factly, wanting Sherlock to understand that he really meant what he was saying and this was not some confused ramble because of the letter.

"I fell in love with you before the fall. I think when Irene was here but anyways, I was hiding it -- or was trying to ignore it, I guess.  I thought that I had time. But then the fall happened and I thought . . . God, Sherlock, I was devastated. I should have said something when I had the chance. I felt numb . . . I pushed the feelings away and I hid them and I knew that I was never going to feel that way about anyone again. Even Mary admitted to competing with your ghost. It was always going to be you. And then . . . then you came back and those feelings overwhelmed me and I couldn't get things in my head just right and I went into autopilot. I was with Mary, so I stayed with Mary. And I forgave her because you insisted so much that I do so. And now . . . now I am home again and I am trying to be appropriately upset even though I am bloody ecstatic to be with you again, and even more if what you said in the letter is still true." 

When he finished the silence that followed was awkward and heavy. He looked down at his hands and waited, hardly breathing.

Sherlock thought very carefully before speaking. "But now there's a third person, John," he finally said. "We have to think of him now as well. It's one thing, the two of us bumbling idiots wasting years of our lives. We can't be doing things like that because now Hamish is involved."

John smiled, even chuckled softly because that was the last thing he expected. "I know. But he won't even remember Mary. And once I get the papers in order she won't be able to bother him -- bother us -- if she changes her mind. And I'd rather . . . I'd rather raise him with you, anyways," he admitted quietly.

"Well now I know you've gone mad," Sherlock said, his voice revealing a small smile despite the oddness of the conversation. "I know nothing about raising babies."

"I didn't either. It's a learning process and you're a genius," John grinned, growing more and more relieved as this conversation went on.

"If raising him involves solving murder cases, I might be useful; otherwise, I'm afraid I am the complete opposite of a genius," Sherlock said. "You of all people know that I am not good with social interaction, John, and it doesn't take a genius to know that's pretty important when it comes to raising a child."

"You're worrying about silly things. That will come naturally to him. He'll probably think you're silly and maybe teach you a few things," John smiled. He wished he could see Sherlock properly, but he didn't want to turn on the light if Sherlock wasn't ready yet. 

"John," Sherlock said, "I need to say something awkward. Well, awkward in a different way than what's already been said." He swallowed. "It should come as no surprise to you that I had mixed feelings about Mary. Obviously when I first returned, I would have happily deleted her from both of our lives. But then things happened and I believed that you really loved her and I wanted you to be happy. Especially when she became pregnant, I knew you wanted a family and I thought you would have it. And I suppose, I'm ashamed to admit, my hatred of Magnussen got confused with my loyalty to you and I convinced myself that without him, she would do right and you would finally be happy." He paused.

"That said, I will not deny that I was somewhat taken aback by Mary's pregnancy. You have always been a very sensible man, John, and quite frankly to believe you want to marry a woman whom you so clearly did not know very well is one thing, but to make her pregnant is another. It was a bit on the foolish side, to put it kindly. But I appreciate it happened and I certainly am grateful for Hamish, especially as I can see he has brought you the happiness you longed for." He paused again.

"However, I do not want to make foolish decisions when a child is involved. I have made enough foolish decisions that have affected your life. I will not do that with a child's."

"So what are you telling me? You don't want to be with me like that because of Hamish?" John asked quietly, suddenly grateful for the darkness again. "I know he was unplanned and that his mother is . . . an unfortunate choice . . . but I believe we can still be a family."

"Listen, John, you're going to have to get better at listening if we're going to start actually saying things instead of keeping them hidden for years," Sherlock said, trying to keep things calm. "I did not say I don't want to be with you. You know I do. We both know you know. I just said I, we, cannot be foolish. I know not everything can be controlled but -- and I never thought I'd be the one saying this -- we are adults and adults have choices that children do not." He swallowed. "I know your plan is to just erase Mary from his life. And perhaps he won't remember her. But what if down the line, things go awry with us, you won't be able to just erase me -- he'll remember."

Sherlock stood up from the chair and said, "I'm going to get back into the bed now." And he did.

He slipped his legs under the covers and then reached over to get the pillow from the floor where he'd dropped it and propped it between his back and the headboard. He reached over for John's hand.

"I didn't mean . . . I would never erase you from either of our lives Sherlock. If Mary had been normal and she left me for normal reasons I wouldn't erase her either. But what she did . . . what she is . . . I just can't. I gave her a chance, Sherlock, and she let me down. She let Hamish down." He gripped Sherlock's hand as he spoke.

"I know, John," Sherlock said. "I don't want to let either of you down. In any way. And this --" he squeezed John's hand, "introduces a whole new host of ways I could fail you. I don't want to. I will try not to. We just need to be careful."

John nodded, not sure if Sherlock could even see him. Did he understand why he felt this way about Mary? How they weren't the same in the things that they had done to John? "Mary didn't want you to see him. We had a big fight about it a bit after he was born."

"Shh . . . stop now, John," Sherlock said softly, sinking himself a bit further into the bed. "I don't want to talk about Mary."

"I would have left her for you," he admitted softly, settling down and not saying anything else about that.

"Shush, John," Sherlock said, "it doesn't matter, does it?" He turned his body a bit towards John. "We're here now."

John wanted to keep raging now that he had started. He wanted to tell Sherlock about every little fight they had, all the times John wished he was back here, all the times he thought about the lie she told, wondered about her name, everything. But Sherlock wanted it to be done and John would try his best. He sighed softly and nodded again, turning on his side to face Sherlock as well.

"John, shush the voice in your head as well please," Sherlock said softly. He tried to see John's face in the dark. "Why don't you stop thinking and let me kiss you for a moment?"

John flushed but smiled wide. "That might help," he murmured, lifting his face more towards Sherlock. 

Sherlock leaned his face into John's and softly kissed his lips. And then he pulled back and lay his head on the pillow. "Today was . . . eventful," he said.

John lay down as well and nodded. "I know. The last two days have been." He sighed. "I'm exhausted."

"I didn't think any of this would happen, John," Sherlock said. "I'm glad it did, but I didn't think it would. I don't want you to think otherwise."

"I don't," John shook his head. "I told you, I was angry before and -- and I shouldn't have said what I said. I know you wouldn't purposely hide things from me to hurt me. I know." 

"Good. We need to say what we feel, John," he said, "and say it when we feel it." There was a noise from the baby monitor, a quiet cooing, and then it went silent again.

John nodded. "I know. I will, I promise. But . . . I was serious about the papers, Sherlock. I know you might not agree with that but I want to do it."

"I suppose there's something there -- the name on it isn't real anyway. I don't have an issue with the legal documents, it's about him."

"Hamish? I won't lie to him. When he'd old enough I will tell him the truth, and then he can decide what he wants to do and I won't stand in the way of what he decides," John said. 

"And what will you tell him about me?"

"That I love you," John said. "You can decide what you want him to call you and he'll just have . . . two dads, but if that makes you uncomfortable he doesn't have to call you that, of course."

"I'll have to think about all this, John," Sherlock said. "But not right now. I don't want to think about anything else tonight. I'd just like to lie here by you." 

"Okay. You're right," John nodded. "I'm sorry. I know that was a lot all at once."

"Shhh . . ." Sherlock said. "Do you always talk so much before you sleep?"

"There's a lot on my mind," John sighed. "I'll stop now." He closed his eyes but his mind kept racing, playing out wild scenarios of Hamish when he was older and looking for Mary, Mary coming home, explaining about Sherlock, watching them playing together -- he couldn't stop. 

"Turn over, John, and let me spoon you," Sherlock said. He ran his finger across John's back. "Stop thinking -- I can hear you doing it, you know," he said softly. "Just concentrate on my finger."

"You can not," John grumbled, sighing as he felt Sherlock's finger. "I don't know how you do it all the time."

"Shhh . . .do what?" he said, tracing his finger up across John's shoulders.

"Think so much. You said once it would be boring to be like us, but it's exhausting being like you and it's been two days," John said. His finger felt very nice and he tried to focus.  

"This is nice," Sherlock whispered.

John nodded. "Yes, it is . . . thank you."

Sherlock put a kiss on the back of John's neck as he slid a hand around to John's stomach.

John settled back against him and brought his own hand up to hold Sherlock's. "You're being very lovely," he smiled softly. 

"I am, aren't I?" He snuggled into John.

"You are. When Hamish wakes me up in the morning I will consider making you tea," John grinned. 

"John?" Sherlock said.

"Yeah?" John tilted his head back a bit, waiting. 

"I do, you know. From the beginning I probably have, but I do now and I will for always."

John bit his lip and smiled wide. Even though he knew what Sherlock meant he asked anyways, wanting to hear it. "You do what?"

"Love you," Sherlock said, "as you well know." He pinched John's hand slightly.

John grinned wider and slapped at his hand playfully. "I like hearing it," he said. 

"You say it to me then," Sherlock said.

"I did before," he protested playfully. "Frankly, you owed me."

"I imagine the letter said it, didn't it? That's twice from me."

"And I said it in my verbal letter," John said, turning in his arms to face Sherlock, grinning. 

"Fine then," Sherlock said, "we're equal." He smiled.

John leaned very close, meeting his gaze. "I love you," he said quietly, pecking his lips. 

"And I, you," he said stupidly, letting John kiss him.

"You what?" John asked, still pecking his lips. 

"Feel similarly," he pulled back and smiled. "Let's not forget how lovely I was being earlier. Do not bully me please."

"Bully you!" John laughed. "I am doing no such thing!"

"Let me go to sleep now," Sherlock said, turning over and pulling John to spoon him. "Be here when I wake up. If he wakes you up, wake me up. I want your face to be the first thing I see. Promise?"

"I promise," John said, kissing the back of his neck. "Night."

"Good night, John Watson." Sherlock closed his eyes, knowing this sleep would be different to all others.


	4. A Day Out

Hamish's voice was the first sound Sherlock heard but John's face was indeed the first thing he saw. He smiled. Their positions had changed in the night and their legs were tangled. He put his hand to John's hair and said, "John. . . the baby is making noises."

"Hmm?" John took in a deep breath and stretched, the noises finally reaching him. "Oh," he said, yawning loudly. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock's cheek before dragging himself out of bed and heading upstairs. Hamish had pulled himself up and was beating the railing, babbling and grinning when he saw John. "What is all this noise about?" He smiled, taking him out of the crib. He changed his nappy and then went to the kitchen, starting the kettle as he measured out some formula. "We'll get you some cereal, too," John said, putting him in the high chair and pouring some cereal on his tray. He leaned on the counter and waited for the kettle. 

Sherlock stayed in bed. "Are you making tea?" he called.

"Yes," John called back. Hamish shouted as well, just because they all were. 

Sherlock got up and went into the kitchen. "Can you bring it into the bedroom? Can I bring him in as well?"

"Yeah," John smiled. "Just let him finish up there," he said. 

Sherlock stood in front of Hamish's high chair. He watched him fiddle with the pieces of cereal, trying to hold more than a few at once but not being able to figure out how to. He finally accepted that he had to pick up one at a time, moving his little fingers so precisely. Sherlock smiled at him.

Hamish looked at him and held a piece of cereal up to him. "He's going to want to put it in your mouth," John explained, knowing it would never make it there. Hamish always pulled it back at the last second and giggled madly. He smiled thinking about it. 

"No thank you, Hamish, I don't care for that type of breakfast. Your father is currently making me my favourite breakfast," Sherlock. He leaned over and picked a piece of cereal up and moved it towards the baby's mouth but pulled it away at the last minute and put it in his own. He touched Hamish's nose and smiled at him.

Hamish grunted and held out another piece, more forcefully this time. When Sherlock didn't take it, he sighed and ate that one too, trying with another one. John brought the mugs to the table and grinned at him. 

Sherlock sat down beside John. "We should drink the tea out here, it'd be too dangerous to have hot tea by him on the bed. But then can we take him in there with us?" He took a sip of tea. "Thank you for breakfast, John," he said smiling and touching John's arm. 

Hamish beat his tray when no one took the cereal, so John leaned over and ate it, pretending to eat his hand as well. Hamish laughed and pulled his hand back, trying it again. "You eat, now. You," he said, and Hamish went back to eating. "I agree about the hot tea, so we can go in there afterwards. Does this mean we can just have a lazy, lie-in day?" He smiled, sipping at his tea.

"If you'd like to. We should get some proper food in, John, and at some point, perhaps he should go outside. He's been trapped in the flat a while now. Whatever you think," Sherlock said, drinking more tea.

"We can go out for lunch," John suggested. "Then walk through the park afterwards -- it looks like it's a nice day out."

"All right then," Sherlock said. He put his empty cup in the sink. "Hamish, we're going to go into the bedroom now. Would you like to join us? If you'd like, you can jump on the bed." He stood looking at the baby and then he looked at John.

"Well? Get him," John grinned, putting his own cup into the sink.

"I don't know how to take the tray off," Sherlock said. "Must everything we do become a lesson?" he asked.

"You just pull him out," John laughed. "I'll take care of the tray."

Sherlock lifted Hamish into his arms. Hamish grabbed some of his hair and pulled on it. "Hamish," Sherlock said, reaching up and loosening his grasp. He took him into the bedroom and set him down on the bed and then climbed back under the covers.

Hamish stood up and took a step, wobbling and falling down. He laughed and stood up again, trying to walk around. John rinsed the tray and came into the room, climbing into the bed. "Having fun?" He smiled.

"We are," Sherlock said. "He doesn't cry when he falls on this." Sherlock used the sheet to cover Hamish's face and then pulled it back and said, "It's Hamish!" and tickled him.

Hamish squealed with laughter and buried his face in the sheet, popping out and grinning at both of them. John grinned. "You play very well with him," he said, excited about the little things he would catch Sherlock doing in the future. "Hamish, show Sherlock what we do when we're happy. Show him." Hamish looked at Sherlock shyly now, chewing on his finger. John clapped his hands once and Hamish looked at him instead. "What do you do when you're happy?" Hamish made one dramatic clap, burying his face in the sheet again.

Sherlock smiled at the baby and said, "Hamish, I have never once clapped my hands when I was happy. Don't let your father bully you. Express your emotions as you please." He pulled a face at John and then smiled. He clapped his hands before leaning over and giving John a little kiss.

John shoved him playfully, smiling when he was kissed. Thinking it was a game Hamish crawled over and kissed John's cheek. "And Sherlock?" John asked. When Hamish looked over and tilted his head as if considering it, John leaned over and kissed Sherlock's cheek. Hamish sighed as if this was all so much work before crawling over and kissing Sherlock's cheek too. "We'll have to be careful so he doesn't see us making out or he'll think that's okay," John half joked, watching Hamish stand up and try and walk on bed again. 

"So you are planning to make out with me at some point?" Sherlock asked, holding Hamish's hands to steady him as he stood.

"Of course," John said, smiling over at him. "You think we'd just get by on that little peck from last night?" he teased. Hamish gripped Sherlock's hands and leaned back, like on the sofa, but he fell now and looked a bit surprised. He got up and reached for Sherlock's hands again. 

"Am I supposed to allow him to do that, John?" Sherlock asked, not entirely convinced by how many of Hamish's games involved falling.

John nodded. "It's good for him. He learns how to fall so he won't be afraid when he's older, plus he learns to trust you, I suppose." 

"Trust that I'll let him fall? That logic sounds a bit dodgy, John."

"No, that you won't let him fall. He's falling now because you're not counter pulling. Look." John took hold of Hamish's hands and let him lean back, pulling just enough so he wouldn't fall. Hamish hung his head back and laughed. After a few seconds he pulled himself up again. 

"When?" Sherlock asked.

"When what?" John asked, looking over at him. 

"When were you planning on making out with me?" he said, pulling the sheet over his head to hide from Hamish.

Hamish tilted his head as if, for one second, Sherlock was really lost. Then he crawled over and tugged the sheet, grinning at him. "Well, as soon as possible, honestly," John was also grinning.

"You don't want to wait a few more years?" Sherlock said, now covering Hamish's face with the sheet before uncovering him and making a surprised face. "You know, to be really sure it's what you want?"

Hamish laughed and tried to take the sheet away from him. John punched his arm lightly. "Don't make fun of me," he said. "I am very sure about how I feel about you."

"Don't hit in front of him," Sherlock said, slightly seriously. "I was only teasing. Why don't we arrange to make out when he takes a nap today? Do you think you could possibly pencil that into your schedule?"

"I think I can manage that," John smiled. "Probably when we come back from the park later. And I was teasing too. Kind of." He smiled wider and fell over, laying on his shoulder. 

Sherlock lay down on the pillow. "Come here, Hamish, let's all have a cuddle," he held open his arms for the baby.

Hamish stood up and started jumping around, his feet never leaving the bed, falling and getting back up to do it again. John grinned and looked between them. "Just cuddle with me," he said, scooting a bit closer. 

"Gladly," Sherlock said and snuggled against John, turning to face him. He held onto John's arm and pressed himself a little closer.

John gazed at him, admiring how handsome he was and wishing he could kiss him now. But the constant movement of the bed reminded him why they had to wait. "He'll get rid of that energy at the park. Now that I think about it, we should go there first so he'll eat well, and then slip into a little food coma," John smiled.  

"All right then," Sherlock said, "Should we start our day?"

John nodded. "I suppose so. Want to get him into some proper clothes while I pack his bag?"

"Am I going to have to change his nappy, do you think? I can, I'm just wondering if it'll be required,"" Sherlock said.

John scooped Hamish up and smelled his nappy. "Maybe. I am coming up with you to get his bag together so I can look for sure." He moved Hamish under his arm like a log and grinned when the boy laughed, hanging on to his shirt tightly. He went to the sitting room like that before holding him properly for the stairs. 

"Let me get dressed first," Sherlock said. He waited until they were gone and then put his clothes on and ran his fingers through his hair. He went upstairs and saw that John was changing him. "I said I could do it," he told John.

"I know, but he was all wet and you were taking forever," John grinned. "You can have the after nap poo, if you're so eager." He put Hamish down to play while he started to pack his bag with extra nappies. "I'm going to measure out some water and formula, just in case. Will you bring him down?" John went to the kitchen and measured out enough for two bottles, bringing a small baggie of snacks as well. 

Sherlock squatted down and said, "Hamish, we are going to go outside the flat now. Does that idea appeal?" Hamish crawled over and Sherlock picked up him up, holding him carefully as they went back down. "John," Sherlock said, "do we have something to push him along in and do you have to carry him the whole time?"

John closed his eyes and sighed. "I forgot the stroller," he said, looking over at them. "We can go back to the house before we go to the park so we can get it. He'll get heavy and I know he won't be able to walk for very long without getting tired." 

"Fine, we'll take a cab there and you can run in and get it," Sherlock said. "It'll be fine, I'll stay in the car with him." He touched John's arm and smiled softly.

"Okay. I can't believe I forgot that," John said. He led the way out and waved his arm to hail a cab. 

They rode to the house in silence. Sherlock watched John looking out the window. He leaned over and smiled at Hamish, giving him one of his fingers to hold onto.

"Be right back," John said, hurrying into the house. He pulled the stroller out of the closet and hurried back out, not wanting to stay too long.

Hamish watched John get out of the car and then looked at Sherlock. "He'll be right back, he said," Sherlock told Hamish.

"Is that your boy?" the driver asked, looking at Sherlock via the rear view mirror.

"No," Sherlock said. "It's his. He's his." He looked at the house and felt a little sick to his stomach. Then he saw John heading towards the car and said, "Here he comes now, Hamish" and pointed.

After John put the stroller in the trunk, he got back in and gave address to the park. "We'll all have a better time with that," he said. "And the car seat just snaps right onto it. I know there's no play set at the park but I think he'd like to feed the ducks." 

"All right then," Sherlock said, "that sounds good. Everything okay?" he asked John, reaching over and touching his leg for a second.

"Hmm? Yes," he smiled, nodding and taking Sherlock's hand. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Just going back, you know. I'm glad you're fine," he said softly.

"Oh," John smiled a bit softer. "It'll be a while before I can put it behind me, until we sell it and clear it out, you know?"

Sherlock nodded. When they arrived at the park, John got out with Hamish in the car seat to sort the stroller. Sherlock leaned forward to pay the driver.

"Cheers. Shall I come back for you later?" he asked.

"We'll call if we need you," Sherlock answered.

"All right then," the driver said. "And good luck with that, mate. Raising other people's kids is a nightmare. I hope it's worth it."  
  
Sherlock walked to the back of the car to find John ready to go.

"All right?" John asked, looking at him closely. Hamish played with the seatbelt, trying to get it open.

"Yes," Sherlock said, heading off towards the pond. "What shall we feed them, the ducks, I mean?"

John watched him for a moment before following with the stroller. He took Hamish out and handed him some cereal from the bag. He held his hand as they walked close, letting Hamish throw the cereal. "Want some?" he asked Sherlock. 

"He can have mine," he said. He sat down, watching them. John was a good father. How could Mary be so cruel to someone so lovely?

John smiled at Sherlock and squatted down beside Hamish, pointing out the ducks and laughing with Hamish as they ate. When they got too close he whimpered and hid in John's legs. "It's all right, buddy. They are just hungry. Throw your cereal, go on." Hamish tossed the cereal, keeping close.

Sherlock looked around the park. He saw other children and parents. Then he said, "John, there's swans coming over. Why don't we walk for a bit?" He stood up.

"Yeah," John said, taking Hamish's hand. He loaded him back into the stroller and started to push. "I forgot you don't like staying still too long," he smiled, looking at Sherlock.

"It wasn't that," Sherlock said defensively. "Swans can be nasty. I was just trying to think ahead." He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets.

"I was teasing," John said gently. He felt bad -- awkward for some reason. "I . . . there shouldn't be anything else at the house," he added.

"John," Sherlock said. "Don't be daft." He smiled and put his hand on the stroller as well to help push.

John covered his hand and smiled. "I just . . . you're okay, yeah? I know this is a lot -- and yes, I know you said to drop it but I understand it's an odd situation and I just want to make sure."

"John honestly, I just wanted to make sure you were okay about going to the house," Sherlock said. "I am not threatened by her." He looked ahead as they walked. "Not that I necessarily wish to spend a lot of time talking about as we're trying to fall asleep each night," he said as he slid his hand on to John's on the stroller's handle.

"Okay. Yeah," John nodded. "I won't talk about it at night anymore," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Tonight there won't be time to talk anyway."

"Oh no?" John asked, smiling wider.

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. "I think your mouth shall be otherwise occupied." 

John flushed lightly. "Naughty . . . and in front of the baby, too," he teased.

"I've said nothing naughty, John. Not at all. I was hoping you'd play harmonica for me, that's it. But now I see how your mind works," Sherlock was smiling as he walked.

"Oh please. We both know what you meant!" He laughed.

"Do we?" Sherlock said, looking over at him. "What is it you want your mouth to do tonight, John?"

"We'll be making out, for sure," he said. "And then I may travel south." He faced forward and tried not to laugh.

"Hmmm . . . are you always so forward or are you just trying to make up for lost time?" he smiled but then added, "Don't answer, I don't want to know about what your mouth's done before. But I shall be thinking about what it might do later for the remainder of the day." 

"I'm being forward?" John laughed now. "Okay, you do that, then. Tell me if I'm any good." He moved to look at Hamish. "Are you hungry, Hamish? Ready for lunch?" Hamish stuck his hand out, opening and closing it for a snack. "Yup. Let's head to the restaurant -- what are we having by the way?"

"I don't know. Whatever a baby eats. I don't care where we go," Sherlock said. He smiled at Hamish. "He doesn't cry as much as I expected. That's a good sign, don't you think? Do you think he likes . . . things as they are? My being around him?" 

"He's past that age, you know for crying for everything. And he eats anything, really. Want to do to our usual? He loves noodles."

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Walk or cab?"

"It's not too far," John mused. "We can walk there, if you don't mind."

As they walked Sherlock thought of what might happen later in his bedroom. And then he made himself stop, afraid the feelings of mad desire and slight anxiety were written all over his face.

When they got to Angelo's, John wheeled the stroller in and straight to their regular table. He wondered if there were any high chairs in the restaurant, but for now he put the stroller close to him.

Angelo came to the table. "This is unusual," he said and looked down at Hamish. "Hello, young man." He set down two glasses of water. "Should I bring something for him?" he asked John or Sherlock.

"He's just going to nibble off of my pasta," John said, smiling. "Thank you, though."

"The usual for us, please," Sherlock said. He smiled at Angelo and then at John. "I suppose this is our first date," he said after Angelo walked away. "Remember, the first time we came here? Did you think one day we'd ever be here like this?" He glanced down at Hamish.

John shook his head. "After the disaster that was that first dinner, I never thought we'd have a second, let alone one like this." He smiled wide and touched his hand across the table.

Sherlock's face flushed. He put his hand on John's. "We've had a million dinners, John."

John nodded. "I'm grateful for every single one," he smiled.

"What else do we need to do to make things settled? Do you want to talk to Mycroft? What about the surgery -- what will we do with him then?"

"I'm going to call Sarah and take a couple weeks off and we can just figure it out then," John said. "I would like to talk to Mycroft about the paperwork -- can it be done, without her here, I mean?"

"I have no idea, but if it can be, he'd be the one to do it," Sherlock said, taking a drink of water. "Have you thought about what you want to tell people?"

"Just . . . " John sighed and thought for a moment. "Just that she left us. She left us and we've come back home."

"That's fair. That's what's happened after all," Sherlock said.

"Right. No one else needs to know the details."

"Except him," Sherlock said, nodding towards Hamish. "At some point." Angelo brought the food and they began to eat. "On the way back we can pick up some food for the flat. Or if you think he'll be too tired, I can do it and you can head home and put him to sleep. I mean to bed. In his cot."

John grinned. "You're adorable when you're flustered like that. He'll be okay if we stop somewhere on the way home. If he's tired he'll sleep in the stroller. And yes, one day I'll tell him what happened, but that's a long time away."

"Shut your face, you're the one who is adorable," Sherlock said, blushing now. Then he looked down at Hamish. "And you," he added, reaching over to put a piece of his spaghetti out for his little hands to grab.

Hamish grinned and took the noodle into his fist, smashing his open hand to his mouth to try and eat it. Realising it wouldn't work, he tried a different way. John cut up some of his noodles and put them on the tray of the stroller. "You are," he countered to Sherlock.

"Fine, I am. I don't doubt that's the first adjective that comes to mind when most people describe me," he said. "Angelo is no doubt back in the kitchen using it right now."

"Of course he is. It's so painfully obvious," John grinned. He mixed up a bottle of formula for Hamish as well as he worked on his noodles. 

"Do you think he knows things are different . . . with us? I don't mean the baby, I mean, you know," Sherlock said.

"Did he ever actually believe we weren't dating? If we tell him I don't think he'll be surprised at all," John smiled.

"Maybe," Sherlock said, "but I bet if we confirmed it, he might wonder how the baby fits in."

"Then I would tell him that Mary left us -- the story," John smiled softly. 

"I'm teasing -- if he thinks you and I have always been a couple, I imagine he'd find Mary's role in the situation quite confusing. As most of us did," he said, wanting to change the subject. "Have you got some paper? Let's write down what we need at the shop so we don't have to muck about."

"I don't have paper, but I don't need anything at the grocery store right now. Hamish has enough formula and there is still cereal and snacks. I can stock up when we get groceries for the flat." John gave Hamish some more pasta and smiled at him as he pulled it closer.

"All right then, what do you want? You have to eat and if neither of us is going to be doing much work, we can't be going out all the time," Sherlock said.

"Is there anything at the flat at all?" John laughed. "We can stop for basics on our way home, then, and I will cook something for us tonight. Maybe salmon and roasted potatoes?"

"That's fine," Sherlock said. "But are you still planning to make out with me with Hamish takes a nap? I don't want you slaving over a hot stove all afternoon."

"He's probably going to fall asleep while we're shopping, and I'm not snogging you at Tesco," John laughed. "Looks like you'll have to wait until he sleeps at night."

"Forget it, I've lost interest. I guess it was just one of those fly by night things. I think I've moved on."

"Oh have you?" John asked, licking his lips. "Well, that's a shame. Perhaps I'll sleep in his room tonight -- I don't want to bother you." He licked his lips again, going back to his meal. 

"There's no bed in there now, smartie pants," Sherlock said. "Now I know why you were insisting on moving the bed downstairs -- you devious little pervert."

"I will sleep on the floor. I will not force myself on someone so obviously not interested in me." He tried not to smile, to keep his face serious like he was pretending to be.

"No, that would make me feel guilty and I've been so lovely, you wouldn't want to do that. You can stay in my room. We'll put a piece of tape down the bed to keep it all formal," Sherlock said, not wanting to be the first one to crack.

"Ridiculous," John shook his head. "I'm staying on the couch -- I'll sleep in the cot if I have to," he said. He was chewing his lip to keep from laughing.

"In all honesty, John, you're safest sleeping in my room," Sherlock said. "See the thing is, I didn't want to say anything when you first arrived as it's so embarrassing, but ever since I've been in the flat on my own, I've taken to roaming the rooms, just humping things during the night. I'm sure it's just a passing phase, but I'm worried that if you sleep on sofa, you might end up on the receiving end of that. So you'll just sleep in my bed tonight as planned, play a little harmonica and then we'll both go to sleep. All right?" Sherlock said. He shifted his legs under the table on either side of John's and then squeezed them together.

John lost it at 'roaming around and humping things'. He laughed loudly and squirmed his legs out of Sherlock's grasp. "Sorry -- is harmonica what we're calling it in front of the baby, then?" He grinned, slouching to press his knee gently into Sherlock's crotch.

"Yes, that'll be our code word," Sherlock said. Then he turned a little bit serious and said quietly, "Aren't you even a little bit nervous about it all?"

"Of course I am," John said, moving back again and glancing down. "I just . . . I forget my nerves when we joke about it." He shrugged and looked back up at Sherlock.

"Does that mean you plan to be cracking jokes the whole time?" Sherlock said, smiling. He reached over and touched John's hand. "I'm nervous, too," he admitted.

"No, of course not," John said. "Not when it's happening. Have you . . . done this before?" He asked, even more quietly. 

"Done what -- making out?" Sherlock asked. 

"All of it," John said, looking up at him.

"Sex?" Sherlock said, quietly as if Hamish would understand if he could hear him.

John nodded. "I just wonder . . . I mean . . . because you said you were nervous, too."

"But you said you're nervous and obviously you've done it before," Sherlock said, his eyes darting to Hamish. "I have done it before, but not for a very, very long time," he said. "And never with you. That's why I'm nervous."

"I have with women," he said. "I'm nervous, of course, because it's you but also because you're a man," he admitted. He was mixing his pasta, wishing they could go back to joking about harmonicas again.

"Don't worry, it's not as different as you think it might be," Sherlock said. "We'll be okay, I promise." He smiled. "Don't play with your food, you'll set a bad example for the baby."

John glanced over at Hamish who was now trying to put pasta into his mouth with both hands. He smiled and gave him a bit more. "I know it's not that different." 

"Is there anything you do or don't want to do? You should say. There are a lot of things we could do, but we don't have to do them all," Sherlock said softly. "Have a think and let me know." Sherlock pushed his plate away and took a long drink of water.

John shook his head. "I don't want to do that. I just . . . want to be with you and I want things to happen how they happen."

"That sounds good. I guess I'm just saying I don't have any expectations. Quite honestly, John, I loved just lying beside you last night. I'm not saying I don't fancy doing more. I do. I'm just saying neither of us should feel any pressure about any of it. A few nerves make sense, but no pressure, yeah?" 

"No pressure. I don't feel pressured. Only nervous." He smiled and, noticing Hamish was just playing now, he started to clean him up.

"And eager? I feel eager, John," Sherlock said. "I just want . . . you. This. Us," he reached for his wallet to pay. He pulled a face at Hamish.

Hamish grinned and tried to get out of the stroller. "Later, buddy," John said. He looked over at Sherlock. "I am eager too. Don't take my nerves as not wanting to. Because I do. A lot."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Shall we get on our way then?"

"Yeah," John nodded. He stood and started pushing the stroller out, waving at Angelo before they left. "You're good walking?" 

"Yeah," Sherlock said as they walked on. They stopped at the shop and got a few basics for the flat. "Let's get grapes for Hamish," Sherlock added, "it seems like the kind of food he would like," even though he really had no idea what he meant by that. They soon headed out, Sherlock's arms loaded down with bags.


	5. A Nap

As Sherlock let them into the flat, he said, "Is he going to need a nap? I'd like one myself and I'm not even saying that just to get you into bed. Well, I am partly saying it for that reason, but I also feel quite tired. Didn't we say we were going to have a lazy day? This hasn't felt very lazy."

John left the stroller by the stairs and carried the car seat up to the flat, letting Hamish out. Hamish pulled down a pillow from the chair and flopped down on it with a sigh. "You're the one that insisted we go out," he smiled. He picked Hamish up and headed for the stairs. "How about bed, buddy?" He murmured, rubbing his back.

"Don't forget the monitor," Sherlock called as he set the bags down and flicked on the kettle. He went into the bedroom to retrieve the second monitor, which he turned on and set on the table. He started putting away the groceries, listening to John talk to Hamish.

Hamish tried to put up a little fight but as John murmured to him he fell asleep. John stood there for a bit, petting his hair and assuring him that everything would be fine. Then he headed back down to the sitting room, going to the kitchen where Sherlock was putting groceries away.

"That sounded quite sweet," Sherlock said, nodding to the monitor. "You really are a good father, John." He had untied the cupboard drawers and replaced the string with elastic bands so they'd still be hard for Hamish to open but not as much hassle for him or John.

John flushed lightly. "Well, I'm trying," he smiled. "I'll start preparing dinner, it's going to take a couple hours in the oven."

"No, don't, John," Sherlock said. "Or let me help to cut down on the time. I want to lie down with you." Sherlock stood behind him and slipped his arms around to give him a hug.

"The preparation is fast enough. It's the oven time that's two hours and we can lay down then," John smiled.

"All right, what do you need me to do? Or should I just watch?" Sherlock said, sitting down at the table.

"You can peel and cut the potatoes for me," John said. He pulled out the salmon and started to season it, getting the aluminum foil pouch ready for the potatoes. He started to preheat the oven, layering the onions and carrots for the salmon to lay on.

Sherlock peeled the potatoes, frowning a little, but still doing it. "Don't make a lot for me, though, right? Be realistic, not idealistic," Sherlock said.

"You can save it for later," John said. "It's just one piece of salmon and you can choose how many potatoes you want."

"Okay, Daddy," Sherlock said, teasing.

"Shut up," John laughed. "You make me do these things."

"I do not. I've been on my own for two years, you know, I know how to look after myself," Sherlock said, immediately regretting it.

John glanced up and tried to move on quickly. "Yes well . . . just because you know how doesn't mean you shouldn't let someone help," he teased -- or at least tried to make sound like he was teasing.

"Well, you used to yell at me to sleep and now I'm begging you to go to bed and you won't let me," Sherlock said, teasing back.

"You don't want to sleep!" John laughed. "How are you going to sleep with me playing the harmonica?"

Sherlock laughed aloud. "You know, a harmonica player needs to be good with both his mouth and his hands."

John rolled his eyes and smiled wider. "See? Your sleeping nonsense is all a lie!"

"I find falling asleep to music very soothing, John, that's all!"

John snorted a laugh. "And you say I'm the pervert!"

"Aren't we done yet? I'm impatient, John, I have waited a very long time. Please, please won't you come to bed with me?" Sherlock said, trying to make what he imagined John might feel was a cute face.

"I'd throw the potato peels at you if I could reach them," John said, swatting his face away. "We just have to put them in the oven and set the timer and we're done, yes," he said.

"Good, you do that. I'm going into the bedroom. You come in when you're ready," Sherlock said, standing up, grabbing the baby monitor and heading to his room.

Sherlock went into the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him. He closed the curtains and took off all his clothes and climbed into the bed. He waited for John to come through.

John put the tray in the oven and set the timer, taking it with him just in case they feel asleep or something. The last thing they needed was to burn the flat down. He laughed at the closed door, entered without knocking, and came over to the bed. He looked at Sherlock's clothes on the floor and flushed lightly. "Bit eager, aren't you?"

"I am," Sherlock said, "but I have an idea. Keep your clothes on. Well, take your shoes off, obviously, but you stay in your clothes and get in the bed."

"While you've taken everything off?" John asked, doing as Sherlock said. He wondered what the plan was.

Sherlock turned on his side to face John. His body was still covered. "The main thing I want, John, is to be close to you. That's all. We have all the time in the world to do other things," he said smiling softly. "But I know you're nervous about . . . doing stuff with a man. Even an excellent specimen like myself. So I thought we could have a little kissing, just kissing, and you could just see what it's like without any pressure. You can be completely in charge. If there's anything you'd like to . . . investigate on my person, feel free to." He raised his eyebrow cheekily and gave John a quick kiss. "It's just a bit of silliness, John, so nobody feels nervous."

"Sherlock . . .I don't want to do it like this, that's what I meant at the restaurant. I don't want to test it out and stumble through, you know?" John looked up at him, touching his cheek softly. "There's too much thinking like this . . ."

"Okay fine," Sherlock said, pulling up the covers a bit and turning onto his back. "But what then? What do you want to do? Don't say 'you know.' Just say -- there's no one else here, Hamish is asleep. No joking about harmonicas. I said I have no expectations but I don't know what you expect."

"I expect to kiss you and touch. . . and I just want things to happen in the moment and not like . . . like I'm learning."

"Fine. Then will you stop trying to teach me when it comes to Hamish? Yes, I'm nervous about him sometimes but just because you have more experience than me . . . it doesn't help when you act like you're running a parenting class," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry, I just, everything is different and I just want it to be how it was before, sometimes, just normal like it was, not everything feeling new and different all the time. I'm sorry. I feel stupid about everything now." He turned his head away a bit but didn't turn his body. "It sounds nice what you described," he said quietly.

John was flooded with love for him because he had quite literally just dropped in with a baby and everything was so far from being like before and Sherlock was trying so hard. John rolled closer, tilted his face and kissed him hard. "I'm sorry," he mumbled against his lips before kissing him again, hard like before. He didn't want to talk anymore, he just wanted Sherlock.

Sherlock leaned up into John's kiss and put his arms around John's back to just to hold him close. He could smell John's smell, a scent he had missed in the flat for so long. He kissed John back, like it was normal, like he had done it a million times which he had but only in his mind.

John whimpered softly as heat flooded through his stomach, making it feel like if had fallen down to his feet. His hand slid into Sherlock's hair and gripped a bit tightly, lifting himself a bit for a better angle to deepen the kiss.

Sherlock shifted his body. It felt good, John pressing into him. "John," he said softly, moving his mouth to John's neck and kissing him there. He moved one of his hands to John's arm and gripped it.

Lust took over John's mind, a strong need to be so much closer than they were making him climb over Sherlock, straddling his hips. John felt like he had too much on -- he was hot and constricted. He pushed himself up and pulled his shirt off, quickly working at his trouser button. He sighed as he had to move off of the bed to take everything else off, quickly climbing back up, back over Sherlock.

Sherlock felt warm and his pulse was increasing. "John," he said again when John moved from him, and when he came back, Sherlock pulled him down against him again, kissing his hard. He put his hand around the back of John's neck, gripping it.

John moaned softly into the kiss, grinding his hips down against Sherlock. His hands were roaming down Sherlock's sides, holding his hips tightly as he bucked down. 

Sherlock's cock was hard now, pressed against John. "God," he said. It had been a long time since he had done this and he wondered if he would explode with anticipation. He brought his hips up meet John's as he moved against him.

"Fuck," John breathed. He pressed down again, reaching between them to stroke them both together. He heard grumbled noises in the monitor. There wasn't too much time left. He kissed Sherlock again, his hand moving as quickly as he could holding the both of them. 

"The baby," Sherlock mumbled, kissing him hard and rocking hard now against John's hand. "I can't . . . " He grabbed John's head and pulled him down to him, burying his face in John's shoulder, almost biting into it.

John shook his head, panting and moaning softly. He was so close. "Just . . .a bit more . . ." he breathed desperately. Their cocks were sliding together now, leaking, making John's hand move a lot easier. "Please . . ."

Sherlock moved his hand to John's arse and then slipped it between them. It was quite chaotic, but he just wanted to touch John. He slid his hand over John's, stroking them both. "God, John," he exhaled, "I'm going to come, I can't last anymore, it's too much . . ."

"Ah -- me too," John moaned, his back arching a bit. Sherlock's hand joining his made everything seem so much better, and faster like it needed to happen right then. John shuddered and, moaning Sherlock's name, he came into their hands. His breath left him as the waves of his orgasm pulsed through him. 

Sherlock lifted into John's orgasm and he came as well. He panted into John, his hand trapped with John's between their bodies. "God, John," he tried to say, "John, so long I've been waiting to do that . . ." and then he laughed stupidly.

John nodded, taking deep breaths to steady his own. "Me too . . .Jesus," he breathed, shifting to get off of him. A few minutes later Hamish was properly babbling away. "Few more…minutes," John said, knowing he could entertain himself for a good ten minutes before he got bored and wanted out. 

Sherlock leaned over and grabbed his shirt, wiping John's stomach and his own. He curled into John. "I feel . . .," Sherlock said, "I'm . . . I'm a bit overwhelmed, I'm sorry." He squeezed himself against John.

"It was fast," John nodded. "I mean . . . all of it." He wrapped his arm around Sherlock, stroking his fingers over his shoulder. "I know that's not what you were expecting." He turned his head and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. 

"I don't know what I was expecting, I wasn't expecting anything specific, I wasn't expecting to feel . . . so . . . emotional," Sherlock said. "That's what I feel. I wasn't expecting that, John." He hid his face against John.

John nodded. "I do, too, Sherlock. I know." Breathing properly now he shifted to get more comfortable. "You're okay, yeah?" he wondered softly, speaking into his hair. 

"It's just odd . . .," Sherlock said, "embarrassing . . . but I doubt it's fatal." He smiled at John.

"Don't be embarrassed. I'll feel bad," John said, smiling back. 

"Don't you feel bad, I just wanted things to be perfect for you and I'm worried you'll always remember this time Sherlock lasted two minutes and then got all weepy," he said, partly teasing.

"First of all, I came first so calm down. Second, I will just . . . not mention the weepy part," John grinned. 

"Good, let's pretend the weepy bit just never happened, okay?" Sherlock said. He listened to Hamish. "He's really talking. When will he actually start saying words instead of whatever he's saying now?" Sherlock sat himself up a little in bed.

"I think very soon. Sometimes he babbles just right and it sounds like a real word," John smiled. 

"I hope his first word is Sherlock," Sherlock said and then felt his face blush. "I think I meant to think that, rather than say it aloud."

John grinned wider and kissed his forehead. "No offense, love, but it'd better be dad, or some form of that word," he laughed.

"Perhaps he'll think Sherlock is a form of that word," he said, rolling out of the bed and putting his clothes on. "Come on, now, lazybones. Get out of bed and look after your son."

John tossed a pillow at him before getting dressed. He took the timer back to the kitchen and then went up for Hamish. "Well, look who's up," John grinned, picking him up and taking him downstairs. He piled up some toys and sat him on the ground in the sitting room. 

Sherlock put the kettle on and joined John and Hamish. "Did you have a good nap?" he asked Hamish. "Were you saying my name up there in your room?"

Hamish looked up at him and laughed as he started to chew on his bee. Getting bored of it he tossed it aside and stood up, pushing his little car around, running around the sitting room. He kept grunting softly and John knew he'd have a diaper to change before dinner. "You were saying 'dad', weren't you, Hamish?" John smiled. "Dad." Hamish tilted his head and then kept running around. 

"He has no idea, does he?" Sherlock said.

"A bit. When I ask him where daddy is, he points to me, and he can identify all the parts on his face," John said, smiling at Hamish. "He just can't say them yet."

"No, I mean about life. He has no idea about all the bad things," he was watching Hamish wistfully. "Strange -- I suppose we were both once like that."

"Oh, yeah," John smiled. "He has no idea about that. I wish I could keep it that way."

"Let's try to as long as we can, yeah?" Sherlock said, looking at John and smiling. He got up and moved over next to him, putting his hand on John's thigh. "This is a nice scene, isn't it?"

John smiled wider and leaned on his shoulder, nodding. "It's great," he agreed. Hamish came over and tried to climb up Sherlock's legs again, gripping his trousers in his little fists and lifting his feet again.

"Come up here, Hamish," Sherlock said, lifting him up to the space between them. He let Hamish grip one of his fingers. "It's not very exciting with us, I'm afraid."

John chuckled and shook his head. "A bit too exciting if you ask me," he said. Hamish pulled himself up again and climbed his way into Sherlock's legs, trying to reach his hair.

"Perhaps, but apparently neither of us can handle said excitement for more than a couple minutes," Sherlock said smiling at John. He let Hamish stand on his thighs, steadying him, as he fiddled with Sherlock's hair.

Hamish giggled as he grabbed curls into his fists, tugging on them and letting go so they bounced back. "We will the next time," John smiled back.

"I hope you still want there to be a next time," Sherlock said, trying to pull Hamish's hands from his hair. "I do."

"Course I do," John grinned. He tickled Hamish to make him let go, scooping him into his arms and blowing raspberries on his belly. Hamish squealed with laughter, making John grin before he set him on the ground and pat him bum to make him go play again. Hamish pushed his car, running around again.

Sherlock laid down on the sofa and put his feet up on John's lap. "Fuss me now," he said.

"Would you like raspberries as well?" John laughed as he started to rub Sherlock's feet.

"No thank you. That's good though," Sherlock said. "We need to work harder to get him on a regular schedule again. Babies need regular schedules, I think." He looked up at the kitchen. "Does he eat salmon? He can have mine," he said, laughing.

"This is his schedule," John smiled. "And he might eat a bit. He loves potatoes."

"I'm just saying, since he's been here, it's not been all that regular," Sherlock said. "When's dinner then? Are we just going to hang out here tonight? Maybe an earlier night than the last two?"

"And I am saying this is his schedule at home, too," John smiled. "He eats and he naps. Things will get more structured when he starts school. And as far as dinner, the timer should be going off any minute now. I will set the table." He got up and stretched before going to do just that.  

"The eating and napping is good, especially the napping if we nap like that as well," Sherlock said, smiling cheekily. "I'm just saying we should try to make at least his bedtimes regular. I'm sure I read an article about that being important," Sherlock said sitting up now. "Should I put him in the high chair?" he said, fiddling with one of Hamish's toys.

"Yeah, and you can mix a bottle up for him, too." John turned the oven off with five minutes left. He took out the tray, opened the pouches and served them on plates before bringing both of them to the table. "He usually falls asleep around the same time . . . if he's not tired and I put him in there alone he cries for a few minutes," John said. "I know eventually I'll have to make him go to bed but there's time for that. You can do that part," he teased. 

"There's a strange irony in putting me in charge of making someone else go to sleep," Sherlock said. He tried to follow the guidelines on the formula, showing John the bottle to check before giving it to the baby. "Our dinner looks nicer than his."

"He is going to have some, too, don't worry," John smiled. He cut up some of his food and, after blowing on it, he put it on the tray. Hamish tried the salmon and made a face, pulling it out of his mouth again. John laughed and pushed it to the side, giving him more potatoes and vegetables. 

Sherlock ate some of his own meal. "It's nice. Hamish, you should be more open-minded, lad." He looked over at the baby and smiled. "Thanks for making the food, John."

"Well, you helped," John smiled. "It was no big deal."  Hamish squished the soft potatoes in his fists, laughing to himself. "Eat it, buddy. Eat it," John said, miming it. Hamish grinned and tried to eat the mashed potato from his hands. "Well, that's why you have formula," he said. "I'll let you snack on some cereal too, yeah?" Hamish looked over, eating a piece of potato without mashing it. 

Sherlock smiled at Hamish. "You're going to need a bath, Hamish. You're a bit of a messy eater. However, your face is quite cute so I suppose it's forgivable." He picked up one of his potatoes and gave it to Hamish who put it in his mouth and then smashed the rest of it onto the tray, laughing.

"He does need a bath -- I usually give him one every other day. That will be perfect before bed."

"Can he use the grown up sized bath or does he need a baby sized version? John, I'm sorry -- there's so much here that's wrong for him," Sherlock said. "I tried to get everything so right but there's so much I left out." He fiddled with the food on his plate.

"Sherlock, everything is fine, I promise. He does use the big tub. I just put about two inches of water and sit on the floor, washing him up. He splashes around a bit and that's all. Please don't worry, okay?" 

"I'm not worried, John, I just want to have everything he needs," Sherlock said. "That's all." The table went silent for a few minutes until Hamish made a loud noise for no apparent reason. Sherlock laughed. "See? He agrees with me."

John laughed. "He agrees that everything is perfect here," he said. "Isn't everything great here at Sherlock's?" Hamish looked over and made a sound that John would have bet his life sounded like 'lock'. "Yeah," he nodded quickly. "Sherlock." But Hamish only smiled back and didn't say it again. "Hmm . . .did you hear that?"

Sherlock smiled. "It's not 'Sherlock's' though, is it John? It's yours too, his, ours. Right? This is supposed to be our home now, not just mine. That's all, I mean, I suppose. I don't want it to be my flat that you two are staying at. I want it to be his home as much as mine."

John nodded. "You're right. I should have worded that differently. I will make sure to call it home -- because it is, I know that it is. I just have to break the habit, I suppose." 

"It's all right, John, it's all new," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure about all the words I want to use. What is Hamish to me? I don't know right now, I don't know yet. I don't know what the right word is. Don't try to tell me either -- some of it will just have to come in time." He took a bite of food. "I know what you mean to me, though. The same thing you always have, just I can show you in a different way. But the feelings, they're the same."

John smiled. "I won't tell you because I don't know either, and I am going to leave that up to you." He ate some of his own food, looking up at him again. "I know what you mean to me, too -- what you are to me. It's nice to finally be able to live it, you know?"

"It's more than nice, it's right. Finally," Sherlock smiled. He stood up and took his plate to the sink and started doing the washing up. "Do you think you'll eventually want to help with cases again, once we're all settled in? Or will it be too dangerous? Would you rather stay safe and just be my blogger again? My blogger with a baby."

"Hmm . . .I would like to help again, yeah, if we have a babysitter. But probably nothing like hunting down a Chinese smuggling ring," he smiled. "You have to be more careful, too."

"We'll see," Sherlock picked up the rest of the stuff from the dinner table and took it to the sink. "I might spend a little time working after I finish here -- just check in and see what's going on, answer any emails, okay? I can do it in my room or in the sitting room -- I don't need quiet or anything. Or you could give him a bath and maybe we could watch a film or something while he plays. I don't know how it all works, I guess."

"I'll give him a bath while you work, and then we can watch a film while he plays," John repeated, grinning and nodding. That sounded like such a good night. "Ready for a bath, buddy?" John asked Hamish, lifting him out of the high chair. He carried him up to get pajamas and his bath things before heading into the bathroom and starting the water. Hamish came to the edge of the tub, watching it fill up and smiling at John. John smiled and kissed the top of his head. "We don't need her, do we, buddy?" he whispered. Hamish simply stared back at him. "Come on, you," he smiled, taking off his clothes and lifting him into the warm water. 

He squealed as he played with his water toys, trying to squirm away from John's hands as he shampooed his hair. "Stand up for me," he said, helping Hamish up to wash his body. "Okay," he said, sitting him back down to rinse everything off. When he was done, he wrapped Hamish in a towel, making him laugh and he toweled him off, covering his face and pretending he'd lost Hamish. 

Sherlock checked his emails but there really wasn't much there. That was all right for now. He got in contact with Lestrade, just letting him know he could be reached if necessary. He wondered about John's comment -- would he only be able to take 'safe' cases? How many of those would there be? Even the escaped rabbit case turned out to be rather dangerous, hadn't it? He didn't want to think about it right now. They just needed a little time to get settled and their future would be revealed. They'd be okay.


	6. Bedtime

When John and Hamish came out from the bath, Sherlock looked up. "Oh my god, he looks so incredibly cute. Hold on," he said, standing up, "let me take a photo." He picked up his phone and snapped a picture and smiled at it.

John couldn't help laughing. "Listen to you," he teased. "Get a movie going while I bring him some more toys to keep him occupied." He set Hamish down and went up to his room for more toys, bringing them down to the sitting room. 

"I was just thinking of Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said, "She'd like a copy, I'd bet." He looked again at the photo and smiled again. He moved to the kitchen to flick on the kettle and then came back to the sitting room to wait with Hamish. "You seem to have a lot of toys, Hamish, I wonder what makes you choose which one you want to play with," he said, watching as John put a few more options down in front of him. Then something popped into his head. "John, does he have one that he likes best? Like if you're not here and he starts crying, I could get it for him and it would make him stop crying? A security blanket or something? I read something about that. Does he have one?" He heard the kettle click so he stood up and poured the water into two cups.

"Uh, yeah," John nodded. "He's got this . . . otter stuffed animal that Mary picked up thinking it was a dog," he laughed. "I keep it in his cot because I think it helps him sleep better. But when he'd upset or sick, he drags it around with him everywhere."

"Does it have a name? Show me it later, yeah, so I know," Sherlock said. He brought the tea in, stepping carefully around the toys. He settled down on the sofa with John. "Where's the remote? Should we see what's on the telly?" He snuggled down a bit, putting his feet back on John's lap.

"Yeah," John said, settling down comfortably. He didn't rub Sherlock's feet this time but rested his hands on his ankles. Hamish played on his little xylophone, getting up to push his car around some more. 

Sherlock flipped on the television and settled on an old movie that was just starting. Sherlock held his mug in his hand. "This is good," he said to himself. "It feels like a quiet, normal night. We never had a lot of those before, but this is good."

"We did too! Just not as often as we should have," he smiled. 

"Maybe, though I don't remember us cuddling much, that bit makes it even nicer," he said, rubbing his feet against John's legs. "Why didn't we do that? Oh yes, that's right. Because you were too busy chasing women and then marrying one. That was a bit daft of you, don't you think?" Sherlock smiled and kept his voice light so John knew he was teasing.

"That's because you were too busy microwaving eyeballs and spearing livestock," John grinned.  

"Those things were so obviously cries for attention, John, didn't you have to take some kind of basic psychology during your medical training? I was desperate, John, I didn't know what else to do," Sherlock said, shifting on the sofa and snuggling up beside John.

"Well . . .so was my string of failed relationships," he countered, wrapping his arm around Sherlock. They had had a very nice day today, and he felt happier than he had in a long time. He looked over at Hamish who was resting his head on the seat of John's chair. "Come here, you," he smiled, and Hamish walked over with a little sigh. John picked him up and sat him in his lap where he leaned back, settling against John. 

"Hamish, let me get you caught up with the film so you know what's going on," Sherlock said with mock seriousness. "The woman is plotting to kill her husband -- the guy with the bad hair -- because she seems to love the other man -- him, the guy with the less bad hair. That's the premise, I'm sure you'll catch up with the details as you watch." He snuggled into John and then said, "Not all of them were failed. Not with her, not at first at least. It's all right that you loved her, John. I know you loved me as well and now you're home, so it's all all right." He stroked John's arm.

John's face flushed at Sherlock's words, but they made him happy because he felt like he was being forgiven for the disaster that was Mary. He knew it wasn't his fault that Mary had turned out to be a liar, but it was that he forgave her for it. And the fact that Sherlock thought that was okay -- that it was okay to have loved her -- made him feel a lot better. "Thank you, Sherlock," he murmured. Hamish looked up at them and, in his sleepy, cranky state, scooted over and tried to push Sherlock off of John. "No, Hamish. Sherlock is tired too, yeah? He can lay down. You have to share." Hamish pushed again. "Hamish, no," John said again and Hamish stopped. He curled up onto John's lap and buried his face in the crook of John's other arm. "Sorry," he told Sherlock quietly. 

Sherlock smiled at John first and then at Hamish. "We have to share him, Hamish," he said quietly. "There's three of us now and no one on this sofa can forget that." He touched Hamish's hand as an apology and leaned back against John. It was nice all of them being together, though Sherlock could not deny he was looking forward to Hamish going to bed so he and John could be alone again.

"He used to do that to me, too. When he was really cranky and he only wanted Mary," John said quietly. "He'll be asleep very soon -- in fact, I'm going to take him up real quick, change his nappy and lay him down." He picked up Hamish and headed up to his room. Hamish was fighting him as he tried to change his nappy. "Hamish, I know you're tired, okay? You'll be sleeping soon, yeah?" He smiled and Hamish calmed down a bit. "You have to be nice to Sherlock, okay? He's your family now . . . he loves you. And me. And you don't know how rare that is," he smiled, picking Hamish up and bouncing him lightly. "He loves us, so you have to be nice." After a few minutes he heard the soft, heavy breathing and John lay him down, petting his head for a bit before covering him up and heading downstairs again.

"Did you turn the monitor on?" Sherlock asked. He was in the kitchen, washing the cups. "I think I'll have a quick shower. Do you want to watch the end of the movie and tell me what happens? I think I'd like to get into bed after that -- would that be okay?"

"I never turned it off, honestly," John admitted. "How about you have a shower and I will wait for you in bed? I'm bored of this movie," he grinned. 

"That sounds good," Sherlock said, drying his hands. "I sometimes used to hope I'd go into my room and find you there with some feeble excuse about being confused about the bedrooms or too tired to walk up to yours. Now no one has to be sneaky, I suppose." He headed into the bedroom to retrieve his pajamas and then jumped into the shower. 

John chuckled and turned everything off before going to bed. He stripped down to his pants and climbed into bed, and then he had a silly idea. He sprawled out on the bed and waiting for Sherlock to come into the room. When he finally did, John sighed dramatically. "Oh, Sherlock . . . I'm so lost . . . is there where I'm supposed to be sleeping?" he asked, unable to help grinning stupidly. 

Sherlock smiled and went along with it. "John, you must have hit your head and you're confused. Don't worry, I'll look after you." He slid next to him on the bed. He raised his hand to John's face and stroked it softly. "You seem to have lost your clothes somewhere, you might be cold. Let me help warm you up." He opened his dressing gown and rolled on top of John. He kissed John's mouth hard and slid his hands down the sides of John's body.

John hummed and kissed him back, bringing his arms up around his neck, pulling him closer. But then he moved them again, touching Sherlock's chest, stomach, sides, and then his arms and up to his neck. His hands moved desperately, not knowing what he wanted to touch first. 

Sherlock moved his body against John's, pushing into him as they touched each other. Then he stopped and said, "Hold on," and he leaned over to turn on the baby monitor. "You probably don't remember but I have a baby in the flat now," he said, smiling down and John before getting back on top of him. This time he sat up, moving his hands across John's chest and then moving them down to the edge of John's pants. "Let's get in the bed properly and have sex with each other," he said softly.

John flushed lightly, not out of embarrassment, but because of how sweetly those words left Sherlock. "Do you warm everyone up this way?" he smiled, squirming to get out of his pants. 

"No, just the ones who are foolish enough to fall onto my bed with memory problems," Sherlock said pulling down the covers and climbing in. When John got in as well, Sherlock climbed back onto him, kissing him hard again and moving his hands and body against John. "I don't want to rush this time, John," he said softly.

John shook his head. "No, I don't either, Sherlock," he murmured, leaning up to kiss him again, burying his fingers into Sherlock's hair so he wouldn't pull away. His other hand held on to Sherlock's waist, sliding to his hip and back up again. 

Sherlock nipped on John's lip softly and then pushed his tongue into his mouth. One hand moved up John's body to his head. He turned it to one side and began kissing John's ear, moving down to suck the skin on his neck. 

John huffed out a breath, his hips bucking up into Sherlock. "I always wondered how this would feel," John admitted, clutching at his skin and hair. "Your mouth . . . and hands . . .it's perfect." As much as John loved the feeling of Sherlock kissing his neck, he dragged his head up to kiss his mouth again, a bit sloppy because he wanted it so badly. 

"You don't know how many times I've thought of this, John," Sherlock said in between kisses. "Early on and while I was gone and once you were," he slid a hand to John's hip, gripping it. "It helped me feel like we were together even when we weren't." He rocked his hips against John. His cock was hard and aching already.

"Me too," he nodded, whimpering and bucking up harder. "Me too, Sherlock." He didn't mention that he thought about Sherlock even while married -- not often, but sometimes when he was up too late and couldn't sleep. John came up and kissed at Sherlock's neck, sucking and nipping softly. 

"Did you think we ever would do this?" Sherlock said, looking down at John. "I knew we would. I didn't know when and God knows we've made it difficult sometimes to believe in, but I knew we would, John."

"I didn't," John admitted, looking up at him. "I never thought . . . I just thought it'd be in my head forever," he said. He reached up and touched his cheek, spreading his fingers to hold his face. "I love you so much," he smiled softly.

"You should have had more faith in me, I knew all along," Sherlock said. "Or at least I had sufficiently convinced myself." He looked down at John's face and then kissed his mouth softly this time. He shifted to lie beside him, pulling John up so they were face to face. He slid one hand down John's back as he moved to his neck, kissing and sucking it softly. Then he moved down to kiss John's chest, flicking his tongue over a nipple before sucking there as well. 

"Christ Sherlock . . .that feels good."

"I want to make you feel good, John," Sherlock said, sliding his hand from John's back to his front. He let in linger on John's hip bone and then brushed it past John's cock before holding it softly. "I want to make you feel so good you can't remember anything but this."

John bucked into his hand, biting his lip to keep still. He reached out and gripped Sherlock's waist, his fingers massaging lightly, slowly moving lower.

Sherlock moved his hand slowly on John's cock, just touching rather than stroking really, just feeling it in his hand -- a part of John that was still new to him. He put kisses on John's chest as he did, took John's smell in, memorising everything.

"You're too tall," John smiled, reaching down to try and palm Sherlock, to hold him and touch him as well.

"You're too impatient," Sherlock said, lowering himself even more out of John's reach. "Perhaps you could touch my hair instead," he said quietly, flicking his tongue across John's cock. He held the base with one hand and slipped the tip into his mouth, sucking softly.

"Ah-oh God," he moaned softly, gripping Sherlock's hair. "I want to make you feel good, too." He shifted to look down, to watch what Sherlock was doing.

"This is making me feel good, John," Sherlock said, still moving his mouth on John's cock. "Besides, there's plenty of time for you to do whatever you want to me." He slipped his hand to hold John's balls as he continued to kiss and suck his cock. He hummed against it and swirled his tongue to make it wet.

John moaned in response, petting his hair, his fingers burying into his hair and raking against his scalp.

"John," Sherlock exhaled against his skin. He shifted one hand to John's arse, pressing into him as he swallowed John's cock, before quickly pulling back his head for air.

"Fuck," John moaned, squirming to keep from bucking back into his mouth. His mouth felt so good -- warm, wet, pulling around him. It was fantastic.

Sherlock continued to move on John's cock, tasting the precome as he swallowed down. A few times he moved his hand between John's legs and let his fingers brush past John's hole. Then he moved back up on the bed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, "Can we kiss?"

"Yes, God," John breathed, leaning up to catch his lips in a kiss. He tasted himself but he didn't care. He pushed up, trying to get closer to Sherlock, trying to climb on top of him. 

Sherlock rolled onto his back, holding John's arms as he moved. He pressed his mouth against John's, parting his lips, his tongue finding John's.

John moaned into the kiss before pulling away to kiss down Sherlock's body, licking and sucking gently down his chest, over his nipple, down his stomach. His body was beautiful -- John wanted to touch every inch of it. 

Sherlock looked down at John but the sight was too much so he pushed back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He felt every movement of John's body, anticipated every touch of his mouth, was convinced he could even sense the small wind of air as John's lashes opened and closed. He was filing every detail away, just in case.

John was softly panting into his skin, kissing along his hip bones, sucking on the soft skin of his groin before stroking his cock lightly, licking at the base. He licked again, all the way up to the head before, a bit hesitantly, sucking Sherlock into his mouth. He stroked what he couldn't fit, bobbing up and down. 

Sherlock called out John's name softly when he slipped into his mouth. He hoped John was okay, he trusted John wouldn't do anything he didn't want to do, but god, it felt good. It had been so long since Sherlock had wanted someone and never before like this. John was singular in every way. He reached down just to touch his hair softly. He let go of every muscle and let John take over his body.

"You're big," John murmured, pulling Sherlock into his mouth again and trying to take in more. He knew it was going to take some getting used to, so he continued to move up and down and stroke the base, trying to take in a bit more each time. He hoped Sherlock was enjoying it.

"I bet you say that to all the boys," Sherlock said. He leaned up and looked down at John and smiled. "I'm teasing. Look up at me for a second. It feels fantastic, John, it's perfect. You could make me come just with your mouth. But I won't," he said as he lay back down. He lifted his hands above his hair and waited again for John's touch.

John rolled his eyes but swallowed him again. He hummed around Sherlock, swirling his tongue along the bottom. 

Sherlock lifted his hips slightly but then felt an urge to move up more quickly, so he said, "John, you'll have to stop now, I need to breathe and you're making it difficult for me." He tried to shift himself away from John a little, he was too close to coming and he wasn't ready for this to end yet.

John pulled away and swallowed, wiping his mouth on the neck of his hand and crawling back up Sherlock's body. "Breathing is dull," he teased softly.  

"True, but ultimately essential, I'm afraid," Sherlock said. "I hope you don't mind, but I have to be honest . . . I was surprised you were . . . willing and so good at that. Pleasantly surprised, I should add. You okay about it?" He mussed John's hair, watching his face.

John nodded. "I told you I wanted to make you feel good. And you don't have to patronize me. I will just practice and get better," he smiled. 

"Do not get better, John," Sherlock said, softly pulling John's hair. "Any better and I won't be able to last longer than a minute." He slipped his arms around John just to squeeze him close again, to remind himself he was here and this was real. 

John chuckled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. "That sounds like a challenge," John grinned. 

"There will be a day I shall let you take that challenge, but not tonight. I don't care what we do next but I'm not ready for sleep yet, John. I don't want tonight to end yet," Sherlock said, stroking his fingers across John's shoulders.

"Me neither. And besides, I have to train for that," he murmured. He pecked kissed on Sherlock's neck and shoulder, humming softly. 

"I like being in the bed with you with no clothes on," Sherlock said, reaching back and pinching John's behind. "You are incredibly sexy to me, John Watson."

John jumped lightly and smiled. "You're sexy, too. You look very handsome with nothing on."

"Why, thank you, I do my best," Sherlock said, smiling. He sighed a little. "I feel more under control now," he said. "Could you lie on your belly for a moment? I'd like to rub your back for a bit."

"I expected something much naughtier when you started that sentence," John teased, kissing him before rolling off and lying on his stomach. "I'll do you after, okay?"

Sherlock got up and straddled John's back. He started first at his shoulders, massaging the muscles deeply. "What naughty thing did you expect me to say?" he asked softly.

"You know . . . when you told me to get on my belly," John murmured, closing his eyes. Sherlock's hands felt amazing. 

"I am considering banning the phrase 'you know' just like I banned the volcano game. Say the words, John Watson, what were you thinking I was going to say and . . . what would your reaction have been had I said it?" He moved his hands lower on John's back, making longer strokes up and down.

John flushed and turned his head so his face was buried in the pillow. "I thought you were telling me to turn onto my stomach so you could take me and I . . . I would let you, if you wanted to do it that way." He voice was muffled but clear enough.  

"There's a difference between letting me do something and wanting me to do something," he said, working the muscles on John's lower back and hips. "Is that what you want me to do, John?"

John turned his face a bit so he could breathe better. "I have pictured both and honestly, I want both. Can't make an informed decision if I don't try both. What do you prefer?" 

"I suppose I'd like to try both as well, I want to do both and then we can see what we like best," Sherlock said softly. He leaned his body over John's now, sliding down a little so he could lie on top of him. He adjusted his cock to press against John's lower back. He started to kiss the back of John's neck and began rocking his hips softly against him.

John was about to answer when Sherlock started to move against him and his breath caught in his throat. "Sherlock," he said, squirming underneath him. "Can we . . . I want to face you."

"Yes," Sherlock said. He lifted his hips so John could turn and as he did, Sherlock reached for the bedside drawer, grabbing a bottle of lube. He moved himself lower on the bed and rubbed John's hips and legs.

"Do we need a condom, John? I'm safe. Are you?" he poured some lube into his hand and began stroking John's cock.

"I am, too," John nodded. "Um . . ." He closed his eyes, enjoying Sherlock's hand on him like that. He had been hoping for this, but now that it was here he was nervous. He knew how big Sherlock was and he had no idea how that would feel physically, even though in his mind it looked easy. 

"Shhh, shush the voice in your head, John, and listen to mine, okay? Concentrate on my voice and do your best to do as I say," he said softly as he tightened his grip a bit on John's cock. He moved his other hand between John's legs, pulling lightly on his balls. "Relax your body now, think about sinking onto the bed," Sherlock's voice was soft but sure. He let his fingertips brush against John's hole, spreading the lube. "Have you ever done anything like this? Whatever the answer is, it's fine."

John nodded. "Um . . .I used my fingers before . . .just two of them," he admitted. Sherlock's hand was touching so many things, and his voice sounded so calming, it was hard to keep worrying. He remembered being nervous thinking too much about that, but in the swell of his lust he did it with no problems.

"Okay, I'm going to use my finger now. It'll be different than yours so just tell me if you want something else. Keep your body relaxed and it should feel good," he kept one hand moving steadily on John's cock as he pushed just the tip of a slick finger in, watching John's face. "Relax," he said again softly, slowing pushing it all the way in. "Okay?"

John nodded quickly. His longer, slender finger did feel different, especially with the better angle he had versus John trying to reach around his own leg. "You can move," he said after a few minutes, getting used to the feeling. 

Sherlock moved his finger in and out slowly. It was slick so it moved smoothly, but John's body was still tight around. "You're beautiful, John," Sherlock said. Sherlock's cock was hard and aching, but he made sure his voice and movements were calm. "Relax your body again," he said and when he pulled his finger back, he pushed two inside. "Does it feel good?"

"Y-yes," John nodded, writhing a bit too much. He took a deep breath and stilled himself, concentrating on the feeling of Sherlock's fingers and how they felt inside of him. 

"Rock your hips a little, push my fingers into you," Sherlock said. "This helps stretch you but it should feel good, too. We can stay doing this if you want," he tightened his grip on John's cock a little. "Do you want to come like this, John?"

John bucked down onto his fingers, moaning softly. Part of him wanted Sherlock to pull his fingers out and just take him, but he knew that was unreasonable right now. He was so worked up from before it was almost painful, and he knew Sherlock must be as well. He nodded. "But . . .I want to . . . come with you . . ." he said. 

Sherlock smiled. "I want to come, too, John, but I want my fingers to be inside you when I do, so you're going to have to help me a little. Put your hand on mine," he said, nodding towards John's cock. He kept his fingers moving into John. He slipped his hand away from John's cock and held his own. "Use your hand and I'll use mine. I want to come watching you come, feeling you tighten around my fingers." He was stroking himself steadily, trying to match the movement of his other hand, trying not to go too fast.

John nodded. God, those words coming out of his mouth were fantastic. John stroked himself quickly, so very close. Without even thinking about it he was bucking down on Sherlock's fingers harder. He was moaning Sherlock's name, mumbling about how good it all felt, and then he moved down harder and he felt Sherlock's fingers prod his prostate and he lost it. He called out and, before he could warn Sherlock, he came all over himself, squeezing Sherlock's fingers into his body. As he squeezed his eyes shut, he imagined Sherlock coming all over him as well and he moaned louder, his back arching off of the bed a bit. 

Sherlock jerked his cock as he watched John stroking himself, watching his breath quicken and his cheeks flush. It was so gorgeous and when John's orgasm hit and his body tensed, Sherlock came as well, calling out John's name loudly. He stroked himself through it until his own muscles relaxed and he dropped his head. He looked up, slowly moving his fingers out of John and falling onto the bed next to him. "I love you," he said softly, trying to completely catch his breath and feeling suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

"God . . . " John breathed, taking deep, slow breaths so he could regulate them faster. "I love you, too. So much, Sherlock." He rolled onto his side and, forgetting about the mess on himself, he scooted over and lay his head on Sherlock's chest, hugging his torso. 

"This was better than I imagined, John," Sherlock said softly. "Because it was real and because you'll be here when I wake up." Sherlock's voice sounded strange to him and he realised his eyes felt wet. "John, I'm feeling emotional again, I'm sorry." He turned his head to the side of the pillow as he stroked John's shoulder.

"It's all right, Sherlock," John nodded. "I know. I liked that we did a little stepping stone. I'm glad you still enjoyed it," he smiled. He moved his thumb so he was stroking Sherlock's side lightly. 

"It wasn't little to me, John," Sherlock said. "I love everything we do. I loved what we did before and I'll love what we do tomorrow. Because it all means something." He curled into John, his voice now slow and sleepy.

"I didn't mean little like that. I just . . .you know what I mean," he sighed, closing his eyes now. "I like that I can tell you that I love you, and now I can show you like this."

"I do know what you mean. But know what I mean as well," Sherlock said. "I'm very grateful we can be together like this, finally. I never want us to stop." He could feel himself falling to asleep next to John whom he had loved for so long.

John smiled and meant to answer, but he only grumbled sleepily because he was already dozing off. His thumb stopped moving and his arm slackened over Sherlock as he fell asleep against him


	7. Finally

Sometime later Sherlock opened his eyes to noise coming from the monitor. He listened to it for a few minutes -- it sounded like Hamish had woken up but was fighting with himself to fall back asleep. Eventually, though, it turned it to a proper cry. Sherlock nudged John, "Hamish is crying. What do we do?" he asked softly as John opened his eyes.

The cry reached John's ears just before Sherlock's voice did. John stretched and yawned loudly, sitting himself up. "We go," he said, looking for his pants. He put his pajamas on and pet Sherlock's hair before leaving his room and going up to Hamish. "Hey, hey," John murmured, scooping him up. Hamish slowly stopped, sniffling and laying on John's shoulder. "You're okay," he said pacing, petting his head.

Sherlock slipped out of bed and put his pajamas on. He didn't know if John was bringing Hamish back in or not, but he didn't really fancy starting the day just yet. He looked at the clock -- it was only six so he hoped Hamish would be going back to sleep, but if he wasn't, he'd get up too so John didn't have to deal with it alone.

"Did you have a bad dream?" John asked quietly, settling that he'd stopped crying now and wasn't asking for a bottle yet. "It's alright now. Come on. We'll go back to sleep together, okay?" He brought Hamish downstairs and back into Sherlock's room. He lay Hamish down in the middle of the bed but he crawled and lay against John. "It's okay now," he murmured. Hamish looked around and John waited for sleep to come to him again.

Sherlock turned his body to face John and Hamish. He smiled at John and reached over and stroked his arm and then petted Hamish's head for a moment. "I'm worried I'll crush him if I go to sleep, John," he whispered. "Are we going to stay awake?"

John blinked his eyes tiredly. "No. It'll be okay. You don't move that much when you sleep. I've done this with him before." He looked down and saw Hamish sleeping. "Just a couple more hours," he sighed, closing his eyes.

Sherlock tried to relax back into the bed. For a while though he kept his eyes open, watching John and Hamish sleep. This was part of his life now, John in his bed but sometimes a baby there, too. It was strange. He thought about last night, though, and knew that the strangeness didn't matter. He was so happy that John was home. Eventually Sherlock's eyes closed as well.

John didn't know how much longer he was asleep but it seemed like only five minutes before Hamish was crawling onto John's stomach, beating on his chest. John groaned and blinked his eyes open, making Hamish giggle. "Shh . . . Sherlock is sleeping," John whispered, looking over at him. He smiled, touching his cheek softly. "Wake him up," John said quietly, smiling wider. Hamish crawled over and pounced on Sherlock, laughing.

Sherlock jerked awake when Hamish landed on him. "What's going on?" he said too loudly and then realised what was happening and changed his voice, "Hamish Watson, you startled me. Why are you being so mean?" He smiled at the baby and then put out his tongue. "You have a lot of energy already," he said, trying to allow the baby to fuss him just a little while keeping him from pulling too hard on his hair. He looked over at John. "Good morning, pretty," he said, smiling.

Hamish laughed and crawled into his belly, beating his chest now. "Good morning, handsome," John smiled. Hamish lay down on Sherlock and then rolled off, laughing when he hit the bed again.

"So now I'm the volcano, I see?" Sherlock said. "I'm never going to get away from this game, am I?" He leaned down and gave Hamish a kiss on the head. He looked over at John. "Can I have a good morning kiss, please?" he requested.

John smiled and leaned over to kiss Sherlock pecking a kiss on his lips. "I suppose you can," he said.

"Merci," Sherlock said. He looked at Hamish. "Tu parles français, Hamish? Non? Bon. Maintenant je peux dire des mots dirty à ton père." He turned to John. "J'aime ta bouche sur moi. S'il te plaît, le faire encore bientôt." He smiled cheekily at them both. 

"Oh, you're so very clever," John smiled. "Come on, Hamish, Sherlock is telling us to go away," he teased.

Sherlock looked at Hamish. "N'écoutes pas à ton pere. Il est tres beau mais stupid." He stuck his tongue out at John. "Peut-être, sorry, maybe Mrs Hudson would like to spend some time with Hamish today?"

Hamish tilted his head and then looked at John. "Sorry buddy, I have no idea," he smiled. Hamish sat back and leaned against John, watching Sherlock.

"Shall we check? Hamish might like some time away from us and the flat," Sherlock said, even though that was clearly not his motivation.

"Would he now?" John asked, raising his brows and smiling wider. "And what will we be doing that is rendering us incapable of watching him?"

"Je veuxvas te faire encule," Sherlock said and then looked at Hamish, "Ilne s'attendait pas àcela, was he, Hamish?" He turned back to John. "What other languages don't you speak? Perhaps I will teach Hamish one and he and I can speak privately in front of you." He grinned stupidly at John.

"Tell me," John whined softly. Hamish leaned forward and hit Sherlock's arm. John grinned. "That's my boy," he murmured.

"Oi, don't encourage that!" Sherlock said, laughing. "I can't say in front of him. But I will show you later if Hamish stays with Mrs Hudson for a bit." He stroked John's arm and said, "See, Hamish, be nice. No hitting."

Hamish smiled and pat his arm. "Tell me what you were saying before," John asked, laying on his arm and gazing at him.

"Just something I want to do to you, can't you use your imagination and figure it out?" Sherlock said. "Close your eyes for just a moment and think of last night. Now can you guess?" He petted Hamish's head. 

"Was it all dirty? You didn't have anything sweet to say?" John asked, smiling.

"Dirty can be sweet as well, can't it? I only want to be dirty with you because I love you, you know," Sherlock said.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with being dirty," John smiled. "I never said that."

"Fine, I like being both," Sherlock said. He leaned over and gave John a kiss on his cheek.

John smiled and Hamish pat his arm, scooting closer to Sherlock. "I want to hear them again later," he murmured.

"We'll see . . . in English or in French?" Sherlock said cheekily. "Are we getting up today at all or just staying in bed?" He bopped Hamish on the head with the covers.

Hamish laughed and went to grab them from him. John smiled. "Unless one of those fancy words was 'sofa' or 'kitchen table' I think the bed is it."

"Okay then, Hamish, do you want to go get yourself dressed and walk down to Mrs Hudson's flat? Just give us a ring when you're ready to come back up."

"Very funny," John said, scooping up the baby and standing up. "What do I tell her? Watch him while we have a quick shag? She'd faint from excitement," he grinned.

"Don't say shag in front of him, John!" Sherlock said. "Say something that's the truth but not the whole truth. Maybe Hamish needs a break from the flat or you think I need a little quiet to focus for a while or we need to rearrange more furniture or you're going to let a man do it to you for the first time in your life. Something like that," he said, throwing a pillow at John's legs.

"One of those things is not like the others," John laughed. "I'll say moving furniture so if she hears some banging she won't be as suspicious." He threw the pillow at Sherlock before leaving the room and heading upstairs. He packed a temporary bag and then went down to Mrs Hudson's. She was delighted to watch Hamish, giving John a knowing look that made him flush and all but pushing him back up. John came back up and shut the door, going back to the bedroom. 

Sherlock had got up and brought two glasses of water back to the bedroom. He lay back down on the bed and waited for John. When he came back, he asked, "Did she buy it? Did she give you any sex tips?"

"She didn't buy it at all -- she shoved me to get up here faster," John smiled, climbing back into bed. "Now . . . tell me all of the filthy things you were saying to me," he grinned.

"Pas de vêtements, s'il te plaît," Sherlock said, then smiled. "It's not very sexy, is it, if you don't have the slightest idea what I'm saying? Take off your clothes and get by me, please."

John pulled off his shirt, smiling down at the mess dried on his belly. "This is your fault," he teased. When everything was off he crawled onto the bed and continued onto Sherlock's hips. "English, please," John murmured.

Sherlock slipped his hands to the back of John's head and pulled his mouth towards his. He kissed him hard. "I want you again this morning, John, you're turning me into a sex addict, I think," he said kissing John's neck.

John smiled. "What a thing to be addicted to," he said, grinding down onto Sherlock.

"Don't laugh. I might start making you run Hamish downstairs for fifteen minute visits with Mrs Hudson a number of times a day," Sherlock said as he pushed his hips to meet John's body. He was already getting hard.

"Sounds like you'll have to get on a schedule, too," John grinned, grinding down again.

"John, don't let me bully you. If I'm the only interested party here, I'll sort myself out," he slid his hand down to John's cock and began stroking it. "I don't want my addiction to negatively affect your life."

"It's affecting my life just fine," John smiled, kissing his neck, sucking and nipping softly.

"Good," Sherlock slid their bodies so they were lying side by side. "Touch me, too," he said, still stroking John's cock as he sucked on his neck and chest.

John nodded, scooting lower, out of Sherlock's reach. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock's cock, stroking slowly as he kissed Sherlock's chest and stomach.

Sherlock let out a small moan. "John, that feels good," he said softly. He reached a hand down to John's shoulder. "You make me feel so good. That's why I want you all the time." He shifted his body slightly just because he wanted to move. It was too hard staying still when John was touching him.

John stroked him a bit faster, licking and sucking his belly. "Talk to me," he murmured. "Tell me the dirty things from before."

"I just said I wanted to fuck you," Sherlock said, "because I do. I wasn't lying that I loved last night because I did, I loved it." Sherlock tried to keep his breath steady which was becoming more difficult as John kept stroking him. "It felt good to have my fingers inside you. But I want more, I want to push my cock in you. I want to thrust into you and come in you. I want you to come and squeeze yourself around me," he was picturing it in his mind which was doing little to help him in the self-control department. 

John smiled against his skin, moving his mouth lower, now sucking the soft skin around his groin. "It'd be tight . . . I would be tight." His voice was quiet and his breath hot.

"You would but I'd be careful, I wouldn't hurt you," Sherlock exhaled. "You'd be tight around me but it'd feel good, you'd want me to push. You'd want me to be inside you, the first, the only one to be inside you. You'd call my name, you'd lift yourself, push against me, pushing me further inside," Sherlock's voice was now breathy and he was struggling to focus.

John started kissing his cock. "I want it already . . . I want it inside me . . .deep . . .pushing." He separated his words with kisses, getting closer and closer to the head.

Sherlock slipped his hands above his head and gripped the pillow. What John was doing was driving him insane and he wanted to feel every second, every movement, but at the same time, he didn't want to explode. He thought about his breathing for a moment, but did let his hips rock up a bit to meet John's mouth.

John sucked Sherlock into his mouth again, stroking the base like the night before, bobbing and humming around him.

"John," Sherlock cried out, "god . . . John," but he could barely speak. "Your mouth . . . "

John smiled around him, trying to move a bit lower on him. He loved this -- driving Sherlock crazy, making him moan, making him speechless. His free hand rubbed Sherlock's inner thigh, then his balls, tugging gently.

Sherlock dropped his hands to the sheet next to him. "You're cruel, John," he said softly, "you are making me insane, you know." He rocked his hips.

John pulled off and grinned, stroking him again. "And don't you just love it," he teased.

"I do but I'm aching to come, John, and I want to touch you," Sherlock said, looking down at John's gorgeous, flushed face.

"You don't think you could get it up for me again?" John asked, kissing his thighs, up top his groin again.

"John, I'm going to explode," Sherlock said, trying to sit up and pull John to him. "Please let me touch you."

John pulled himself up onto his knees and opened his arms. "All yours, love," he smiled.

"Get on your back," Sherlock said, lifting himself and getting the lube out of the drawer. He moved between John's legs. "How'd this get so hard, John? Do you get off on making me crazy then?" he said, pouring lube into his hand and stroking John's cock.

John lay on his back and grinned, bucking into his hand. "Maybe I just like sucking your cock," he said cheekily.

"Do you, John? Say it, say if you do," Sherlock said, moving his hand over John's cock and then between his legs, slicking John's hot skin.

"I do," John nodded. "I do like sucking your cock because it drives you wild and I love when you're panting and moaning and it's all because of my mouth."

"Who knew you'd have such a talent for blowjobs, eh? I am a very lucky man," Sherlock said. He rubbed a finger across John's hole and then pushed one finger in, not roughly but not as slowly as last night. His other hand stroked his own cock. "Imagine it's my cock, John. It will be soon, do you think you'll be okay with that? I want to fuck you, I want you to want me to."

"I do want you to," John nodded, squirming but pushing down on his hand. "Do you want me to say it? I want your cock." He felt braver than last night, having got his own turn to rile up Sherlock.

Sherlock said, "Spread your legs, make it easier for me to take you." He pushed two fingers in now, curling them a little to brush John's prostate. He bent down and licked John's cock, sucking the tip and tasting its wetness. "Think about your cock for a minute, think about pushing it into me. Does that sound good to you?" He kept his fingers moving, picking up the rhythm and separating them to stretch John. 

"God, yes," John moaned.

Sherlock slipped his fingers from John and poured more lube into his hand. He slicked himself and then John again. "Relax now," Sherlock said and he pulled John's hips up and lined himself up. "You're open for me," he said and he pushed himself slowly inside. "Relax your body," he said, stopping part way in. "Fuck, you feel good, John. You okay?"

"Oh . . ." John moaned, biting his lip and writhing a bit as he got used to the bigger stretch. "It's okay . . . I'm okay . . ."

"I'm going to try to go slow, John, but I want you so much," Sherlock said, not thrusting yet, just pushing himself in slowly all the way. "God, you're so warm and tight around me."

John squeezed his eyes shut, nodding quickly. He opened his eyes and looked up at Sherlock. "It's good . . .I like how you feel inside me..

"Can I move, John, please? I need to," Sherlock said. The urge was so strong but he didn't want to do anything John wasn't ready for. He leaned over and licked John's cock again.

John nodded, petting his hair. "You can move, Sherlock . . . take me," he murmured. To show him it was really alright he pushed down onto him.

"Fuck," Sherlock said at John's movement. He began to rock his hips, slowly at first, pushing all the way in before pulling back. "God, John, you feel . . ." he tried to look down at John's face, but the pleasure was squeezing his eyes shut and his body moved a bit faster. He could feel his breath change. "John," he said again, as if it were the only word he could remember.

"Sherlock . . . God," John moaned, gripping the bed sheet into his fists. "Sherlock . . .it's . . . fuck . . ." He gave up, trying to keep his eyes open to watch Sherlock. What a gorgeous sight -- his face flushed and a bit screwed up, his body moving only for him.

"John, will you do this to me one day, I think I want to feel you inside me, too," Sherlock said, starting to thrust a little harder now.

John nodded, reaching up to touch his arms. "I will, love," he said.

It was starting to be almost too much for Sherlock. He leaned down over John and kissed his mouth. He rested his body weight on one arm and let his hips go, thrusting into John. He could feel the tension start in his stomach. "John, I'm so close," he said, "it feels so good, I don't want to stop but I . . . " It had been so long since Sherlock had felt this good. He tried to look down at John's face, but couldn't keep his eyes open. He pressed his mouth against John's cheek.

John reached down and started to stroke himself. "Kiss me when we come," John breathed into his ear, panting heavily. "I'm close . . . "

Sherlock kept thrusting his hips. He was panting against John now. He slid his hand over John's as he stroked himself. "John, I'm going to come," he called and moved his mouth to John's but couldn't really kiss him as his whole body froze for a moment as the tension moved through him and his pushed himself inside John as far as he could. 

John grabbed his face and kissed him, sloppy and messy as Sherlock all but seized over him. Second later he was coming all over them, panting and moaning Sherlock's name over and over.

Sherlock fell onto the bed next to John. He slid out and curled up against him, burying his face in the pillow next to John's head. "I'm sorry I couldn't last too long, it just felt so good," he said softly, still not completely in control of his breath.

John smiled softly, panting beside him. "It was perfect, Sherlock. It felt . . . good. It was so good." He turned to face him, caressing his cheek. "Thank you for just . . .doing it," he smiled.

"Thank you for letting me," Sherlock said. He squeezed himself around John, still wanting to be as close as he could get. "I love you," Sherlock said softly.

John kissed his head. "I love you, too. And I meant it, I'd like to do it to you," he murmured.

"I feel a little more nervous about that, but I want to do it, I want to feel that with you," Sherlock said. He drew lines with his fingers on John's chest.

John nodded. "Whenever you're ready," he smiled. "I'm glad I felt it with you . . . I'm all giddy about my first time," he joked softly.

"How long do we have? Can we do anything else once we rest?" Sherlock's face flushed a bit. "I can't help it -- you've made me this way," he said kissing John's neck as he pulled his hair a little.

"We have until we decide to get Hamish," John smiled. "What did you have in mind? Trying it now?"

"Maybe," Sherlock said softly. "A little rest first? Maybe we could kiss while we're resting?" He leaned over and kissed John's mouth.

John smiled into the kiss, raising his head to return it properly. He slid his hand into his hair, scraping his scalp lightly.

"John, you just make me feel so good," Sherlock said. "It's like I don't have a care in the world except for whatever you're doing to my body." He kissed him. "I want to do everything with you."

John nodded. "I know, I feel the same, Sherlock. I want everything . . .I want you." He held Sherlock's face, his neck, his arms. "I can't get enough of you."

Sherlock kissed John's mouth hard. He stroked John's face with his hand and then moved down to suck on his neck. He hummed against it and moved a little more of his weight onto John.

John pulled him up, his hands roaming all over Sherlock's body, as if he had to memorise every inch.

Sherlock's skin responded to every one of John's touches. He was so rarely touched -- everything was so new and so right, because it was John.

As they kissed John rolled so that he could be on top of Sherlock, kissing him for a while longer before pulling away to speak. "Do you want to try it now?" He asked, kissing at Sherlock's jaw up to his ear. 

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. "But will you be angry if I change my mind and want you to stop?" He realised he was quite nervous -- it was one thing doing something new that he was more in control of; he remembered it having felt more like a surrender before and that wasn't always Sherlock's favourite feeling.

John looked up to meet his eyes. "Of course I won't be angry," he said softly. "Whatever you want or don't want is okay, honest," he smiled, pecking kisses on Sherlock's lips.

"Then I do, I want to try," Sherlock said. He leaved up and kissed John, softly moving his lips across mouth. "I know I should be like you -- you were a brave little soldier and you hadn't ever even done it before -- but I'm just . . . anxious." He took a deep breath and tried to relax his body.

"But that would be easier -- trying new things, you know? Trying something again after so long . . . I don't know what it was like before but I'm going to try and make it good, okay?" He pecked Sherlock's lips again before sitting between his knees, stroking his thighs gently. He brought the lube closer, spread it onto his fingers, and then just rubbed the hole with his finger, massaging almost.

Sherlock closed his eyes but then realised he would prefer to see John -- to know it was John who was touching him in this way. He watched him and thought about all the things they'd been through together and all those nights, including the night of the wedding, when Sherlock had longed for him to be home. And now he was. He kept a steady breathing pattern and moved his arms and legs a little to relax. "I know it will be good, John," he said softly. "You've already been good at everything new. This . . . this isn't all that different to what you've done before. I trust you." He smiled down at John's face.

John smiled, slowly pushing his finger into Sherlock. He bit his lip, watching Sherlock's face as he did it. He was tight and hot, and John moved slowly to make sure he wouldn't be uncomfortable. He leaned down and pecked kisses on his lower stomach.

And, of course, John was right -- he did make it feel good. Sherlock was already longing for John's touch and everywhere it went it sent electricity through Sherlock's body. This was no different. "It's good, John," Sherlock said and he felt he could close his eyes and let go more. He could feel his shoulders sink into the pillow and, while he still kept a check on his breathing, he let his focus drift to John's finger and the heat it was causing.

John smiled as he pumped it slowly, and then a bit faster, adding a bit more lube before pushing in a second one. He pressed a hard kiss onto his belly to distract him a bit as he moved them slowly.

Sherlock let out a small moan. It was good, it was a good kind of surrender. It was allowing John bring him pleasure, and that was precisely what John was doing. Sherlock could feel his cock ache, the whole area ached really, for more, more of John. "Yes," he exhaled, "don't stop."

John shook his head, close to Sherlock so he felt it. John gently spread his fingers, opening him up as he pumped them in and out. He added a third one. "I'm aching, love. You look so gorgeous. I want to feel you . . . to be inside . . . " John moaned.

Sherlock's legs pulled apart and he could feel his hips rock to meet John's fingers. "Please, John," Sherlock softly moaned, "I'm ready." His fingers gripped the sheet beside him.

John slowly pulled his fingers out and put more lube into his hand, stroking his cock as he scooted closer to Sherlock. He lined up, leaned over him, and pushed in slowly. He was biting his lip to keep from burying himself into the tightness. "God, you feel so good . . ."

Sherlock felt every inch of John pushing inside -- it took Sherlock's breath at first, but then his head clearer a bit and he relaxed his body. Once John was all the way in, Sherlock whispered, "Just wait a minute before you move, okay?" He lifted his arms to pull John to him, to feel every part of him close to his body.

John nodded, pecking kisses on his chin and chest and whatever else he could reach while holding still. The need was overwhelming but he focused on Sherlock's soft panting, and his skin against his lips, and his hands touching John and it was easy to wait.

Sherlock slid his arms around John's body and held him. "You're inside," he whispered, because he felt like saying it was important for some reason. John's staying still in him made him feel a different kind of connection and he just wanted to mark that with a moment. And then he closed his eyes and focused less on what was going on his head and more what was going on in his body. The pressure of John inside, the weight of him against Sherlock's hard cock, the tension in Sherlock's muscles . . . all of a sudden he was acutely aware of it all. "John," he moaned, "move now, please . . ."

John huffed a relieved breath that carried a soft whimper with it. He pulled almost all the way out and then went back in, keeping his rhythm steady. It felt incredible, the best he'd ever felt. And he knew it was Sherlock -- that it was the fact that he was specifically doing it with Sherlock that it meant anything at all -- that it felt so good. He swore softly, his head falling back as he rocked his hips.

Sherlock felt each push through the tightness but it felt like his body was opening up, opening to John, and John was filling that open place. He lifted his hips a bit to meet John -- it wasn't a surrender at all -- it was a meeting of two bodies, a connection, that he only had with John, a physical act cementing the connection they'd always had. He gripped John's arms and looked at his face. "Yes," he moaned, "John, it feels good, it's . . . you."

John could only nod back, gazing down at him as he moved a bit faster, pushed a bit harder. It felt so good he was struggling for self control. "You're so tight . . . so good . . . feels . . . so good." John moaned, leaning down to kiss him.

Sherlock lifted his knees a little, rocking his hips, as if somehow he just had to get John closer, more inside. He slipped his hand between them and stroked himself. His entire body was hot and damp with sweat and he could feel them rocking the bed underneath them and then there was only want in his brain and in his body.

John adjusted himself onto his knees, pulling Sherlock's legs around his thighs. He quickly put a pillow under his hips so that he would be more comfortable before properly thrusting in and out, keeping himself mostly inside of Sherlock as he pushed deep. This also allowed him to watch Sherlock easier, to be able to see his face and his body writhing lightly and his hand moving -- it made everything so much better. "I'm close, Sherlock. God, I want to . . .come inside."

Sherlock was close, too. Somehow just John saying that made him even closer. "Yes, John" was all he could get out before he could feel himself tipping over and he pumped his cock harder and faster and felt his legs tightening and his hips lifting.

John felt him squeezing around his cock and it was just the push he needed. He thrust in deep and, his fingers digging into Sherlock's thighs, he came, calling out loudly for Sherlock. When it was over -- his body weak from his orgasm -- he collapsed down on the bed, panting heavily. "Oh my God," he breathed, grinning and closing his eyes.  

Sherlock's orgasm lasted through John's and when John collapsed next to him, Sherlock instinctively curled around him, squeezing his arms around John's body before he realised he was making of mess of both John's front and back. He hoped John didn't care, he just wanted to be close as they recovered -- this too felt like part of sex to Sherlock.

John smiled wider and shifted to hold Sherlock as well, his face buried in Sherlock's hair. "We're a right mess," John chuckled softly, kissing the top of Sherlock's head. 

"I love you, John," Sherlock said, and he moved down and kissed John's mouth -- it had the urgency of a first kiss and the desperation of a last one. "I'm feeling . . . odd again . . . after all we've just done and then we'll clean up and go down and get your son and bring him here which is now his home and there's so much, it's so big now and I love . . . everything, but it's so big . . ." He buried his face into John's chest. "I just love you," he said again.

John pet his hair, giving him a moment before speaking. "I know that things have changed very drastically, and very quickly. And I can't tell you what it means to me -- how grateful I am -- that you have been so good about it. Good to us, and to Hamish. I love you and I hope I can make it up to you. And don't even tell me that I don't have to," he smiled. 

Sherlock listened and then lifted his head slowly and smiled. "Fine, you do have to make it up to me. I'll expecting you to satisfy my every sexual whim for at least the first year. Does that seem fair?" He felt a little calmer and collected now.

"I feel a bit insulted -- giving you sex in exchange for repayment? I'm a classy gentleman, Sherlock," John teased, squeezing his arms around Sherlock harder. "Let's take a little nap, shower, and then get Hamish, okay?" 

"That sounds good," Sherlock said settling against him. "And don't be insulted. I've never felt this way about anyone -- I think you know that -- I've never wanted or loved anyone like I do you. Everything I said in the letter was true and now you are home and we're together. It's all true, John. It's so true."


End file.
